' 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


POEMS 


BY 


WILLIAM  H.  HOLCOMBE,  M.D. 


NEW    YORK: 

MA.SON       BROTHERS, 

5    &    7    MERGER    STREET 

I860. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1860,  by 

MASON    BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  .of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


8TEEEOTYPEI>     BY  PRINTED    BY 

SMITH     &     McDOUGAL,  C.     A.     ALVORD, 

84  Beekman-st.,  N.  Y.  15  Vandewater-st. 


PS 


MY     BROTHER, 


J  A  MES    P.    HOLCOMBK,    L.L.D., 

P30FK8802  OV   CIVIL,    CONSTITUTIONAL   AXD   IKTEBNATIONAI.    LAW,    IN    TUB 
UNIVERSITY   OF   VIEftlNIA, 


BY    WHOSE    FRATERNAL    SOLIOITUnE    AND    EXAMPLE 
MY-LOVE     OF     LITERATURR     WAS     FIRST     ENKINDLED, 

C  I)  t  s    £  i  i  i  I  c    i?  o  1  it  in  e 

IS     MOST     AFFECTIONATELY      INSCRIBED. 


759831 


PREFACE. 


THE  pursuit  of  Literature  has  been  with,  me, 
not  a  business,  but  an  occasional  recreation. 
Assiduous  devotion  to  the  Medical  Profession 
for  the  last  fifteen  years  has  left  me  little  time 
or  inclination  to  cultivate  the  Poetic  Art. 
Still,  the  material  for  a  small  volume  has 
gradually  accumulated,  and  with  diffidence  I 
make  my  first,  and  most  probably  my  last 
contribution  to  the  stock  of  American  Poetry. 

Several  of  the  pieces  are  based  upon  the 
beautiful  psychological  doctrines  of  Swedenborg  ; 
and  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  are  unac 
quainted  with  his  writings,  I  have  appended, 
in  the  form  of  notes,  some  interesting  extracts 
from  his  works,  elucidative  of  the  subject-mat 
ter  of  the  poems. 


vi  PREFACE. 

Whilst  I  um  not  indifferent  as  to  the  ver 
dict  which  the  critics  and  time  will  pass  upon 
these  effusions,  I  have  published  them  for  the 
purpose,  as  Mrs.  Browning  expresses  it,  "  of 
throwing  them  behind  me,  so  as  to  leave  clear 
the  path  before,  toward  better  aims  and  ends." 

May,  I860. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

DEDICATION iii 

PREFACE v 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

ODE  ON  THE  BIRTH  OF  A  CHILD 13 

OUR  LITTLE  ALECK 21 

THE  LOST  TREASURE 23 

OUR  THREE  CIIILDRKN 26 

THE  ANGEL  OF  MORNING 28 

Is  THIS  THE  SPOT  ? 29 

CHILDHOOD 31 

To  MY  MOTHER 33 

THE  FIRST  FLOWER 36 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 38 

MY  LITTLE  NED  AND  1 41 

THE  STRAY  LAMB 44 

LITTLE  JULE 48 

ROSEBUD  AND  SUNBEAM 50 

SUBSTANCE  AND  SHADOW,  OR  THE  CHILD  AND  THE  RIVULET  51 

THE  INVISIBLE.  .                                                          54 


V1H  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

TEE  PICTURE 55 

RECOVERY  FROM  YELLOW  FEVER 57 

THE  MOUNTAIN  HEIGHT 62 

SPIRITUAL  FLOWERS 65 

To  A  ROSE 6G 

THE  CHIMES G8 

ODE  TO  POWERS'  GREEK  SLAVK  71 

MY  LYRE   74 

THE  POET  AND  THE  BROOK 76 

NOCTURNE 80 

Music 84 

THE  WILD  REUNION 86 

FAREWELL 91 

THE  ORANGE  FLOWER 93 

LINES  TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND  94 

THE  ROVING  HEART 96 

LOVE  ME  ALONE 98 

LOVE'S  THE  ONLY  TREASURE 100 

OLD  AUNT  HANNAH 103 

MY  VALENTINE 106 

KISSES 108 

'TWAS  LIKE  A  SILVER  BUGLE . .  109 

LOVE  is  OMNIPOTENT 112 

GOOD  NIGHT  ! 115 

BEAUTIFUL,  DIVINELY  GLOWING  ! 117 

ORLEANNA 119 

UNCLE  JERRY 122 

ISABELLK .124 


C  ONT  ENTS.  IX 

PAGE 

THE  POET'S  DIADEM 128 

THE  DREAM  OF  THE  ROSE. 129 

THOSE  HAZEL  EYES  ! 131 

THE  POET'S  SONGS 133 

THE  STREAMLET'S  WARNING 135 

WHEN  LOVELY  MARY 137 

IDOLINE 139 

FIDELE 143 

DESKKTED ....  145 

THE  DESECRATED  CHAPEL,  a  Swedish  Legend 146 

LOVE  IN  SEARCH  OF  TRUTH,  an  Allegory 149 

ONE  OF  MARION'S  MEN 154 

CIRCE  FOR  CALYPSO 157 

RELIGIOUS  INSPIRATION  FROM  NATURE 160 

TRANSCENDENTALISM 163 

THE  OLD  MUSICIAN 165 

THE  IDIOT  NEGRO 1C8 

THE  SOUTHERN  MAN 172 

THE  MINE 175 

SCNSIIINE 176 

"  ALL  is  WELL" 178 

THE  OLD  COUNTRY  CHURCH 180 

THE  MYSTIC  UNION 185 

THE  STREAM  OF  LIFE 187 

THE  INFANT  IN  HEAVEN 189 

CONSOLATION  FROM  NATURE  192 

THE  PHILANTHROPIST  AND  CHILD 194 

DESCENSUS  AVERNO,  a  Mysticism • 198 


X  CONTENTS. 

PACE 

THE  MAGIC  GARDEN 202 

SPIRITUAL  VISION 207 

THE  SHEPHERD  OP  CYPRUS 210 

SONNET.    To  Emanuel  Swedenborg 217 

A  HOME  PICTURE 219 

THE  HERO'S  GRATE 220 

DEATH  OF  GENERAL  LEE 222 

BEFORE  AND  AFTER  THE  BATTLE 225 

HOPE  IN  WINTER 227 

THR  GRAVEYARD 231 

NEW  THANATOPSIS 235 

L'ENTOI 243 

IVY  CLIFF,  A  POEM 245 

AGATHE,  A  TRAGEDY 265 

NOTES  TO  THE  POEMS...  .  329 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


ODE 


ON    THE    BIRTH    OF    A     CHILD. 


I  . 

A  CHILD  is  born  ! 
The  joyous  tidings  sent 
Go  leaping  jubilant 
From  tongue  to  tongue  in  music  on, 

A  child  is  born ! 

Rejoice,  thou  mighty  Human  Heart ! 
Another  fountain  from  the  sacred  ocean 
Begins  on  earth  its  individual  motion  ; 
Another  life  from  God's  life  flows  apart 

And  feels  the  throb  of  its  identity. 
Self-conscious,  loving,  knowing,  seeing, 
Time-thralled  and  yet  eternal  being, 
Thou  heaven-derived  humanity  ! 


14  ODEONTHE 

How  holy  is  thy  birth ! 
Some  star  our  sense  discovers  not 
Enunciative  points  the  spot, 
And  angel-choirs  are  chanting  here 
To  guardian  spirits  kneeling  near, 

"Glory  to  God  and  peace  on  earth  !" 


ii. 


0  Man  !  Thou  art  the  heart  of  nature  ! 

Thy  pulses  pass  to  every  creature  ; 

The  electric  motions  of  thy  soul 

Through  all  the  living  kingdoms  roll, 
Flow  to  the  earth  and  animate  the  whole. 
For  this  bright  being  which  before  us  lies, 
The  world  is  full  of  innate  sympathies. 

The  trees  rejoice  as  when  a  bud 

Peeps  crimson  from  its  mother-wood  ; 

From  nest  to  nest  successive  springs 
A  choral  twitter  of  delight, 

As  if  some  pair  of  little  wings 

Were  spread  for  their  initial  flight ; 


BIRTH      OF      A      CHILD.  15 

The  rivulets  lisp  the  tidings  on, 
Rippling  it  out  to  moss  and  stone  ; 

Flower  winks  to  flower  with  smiling  nod, 
And  morning,  on  the  hills  aglow, 
Bids  all  her  tip-toe  breezes  blow 
To  waft  the  message,  come  from  God — 
A  child  is  born  !  a  sign  is  given  ! 

A  living  revelation  made  from  heaven  ! 


in . 

This  Human  Soul, 
This  flesh-engirdled  flame, 

This  microcosm  of  the  whole  ! 
What  seer's  or  sage's  erudition 
Can  satisfy  the  child's  petition, 
And  tell  us  whence,  and  how,  and  why  it  came  ? 
Not  in  this  present  sensuous  sphere 
Hath  this  mysterious  life  begun  : 
The  meanest  flower  that  blossoms  here 
Was  once  an  essence  in  the  sun ; 
And  naught  of  nature's  dead  material 
Is  woven  into  our  woof  ethereal. 


16  ODEONTHE 

Through  inner  realms  of  light 

This  star  descended  by  a  path  unknown, 

Invisible  in  its  superior  zone 

Until  it  burst,  thus  beautiful  and  bright, 

Upon  our  happy  sight. 
Yet  hath  it  tokens  of  its  derivation. 
There  is  no  wave  without  some  agitation, 
No  subtlest  ether  without  some  vibration  : 

All  things  have  traces  which  reveal 

What  they  have  felt  or  what  they  feel. 
The  shell-fish  tints  his  convoluted  chamber 
With  his  own  hues  of  purple,  pearl  and  amber  ; 

The  rose's  leaf  betrays  impresses 

Where  fairy  lips  have  left  caresses  ; 

And  this  sweet  face,  so  round  and  small, 

Index  of  scarcelv  aught  at  all, 

v  o  / 

Hath  delicate  motions  not  its  own, 
Dimples  like  shadows  o'er  it  thrown, 
The  last,  faint,  trembling  terminations 

Of  wonderful  irradiations 

From  angel-presences  within, 
And  those  Eternal  Powers  to  which  we  are  akin. 


BIKTH      OF      A      CHILD.  17 


IV  . 


0  infancy  !  with  all  thy  forms  enchanting, 

Thou  art  the  nursery  of  paradise  ; 
Whither  the  Master  frequent  comes,  transplanting 
Some  favorite  to  His  mansions  in  the  skies. 
The  little  graves  we  water  with  our  tears 
Are  naught  but  empty  sepulchers, 
Whence  the  dear  souls,  unbound,  unladen, 
Have  risen  to  their  eternal  Eden. 
Under  the  Saviour's  merciful  direction 
Still  are  they  linked  by  innermost  affection, 
More  durable  than  blood  or  birth, 
To  kindred  spirits  left  on  earth  ; 
Like  zephyrs  which  are  the  souls  of  flowers 
Released  by  time's  cold  touch  or  ours  ; 
Returning  with  most  melodious  motions, 
With  sweet  invisible  devotions, 
Dallying  about  their  sister-blossoms, 
Breathing  their  lives  into  their  bosoms  ! 


18  ODEONTHE 


V  . 


0  see  !  a  morn  of  May  ! 
A  shining,  balmy,  breezy  one  ; 

The  little  children  out  at  play 
On  sweet,  green  landscapes  in  the  sun 
Searching  for  shells  the  rivulet's  brim, 
Watching  the  silver  minnows  swim, 
Chasing  the  rainbow  butterfly, 
Or  mocking  echo's  faint  reply. 

0  trustful,  happy,  guileless  creatures  ! 

How  near  ye  are  to  angel-natures  ! 

Content  with  what  each  day  is  given 

And  fed  with  manna  fresh  from  heaven. 
The  little  loves  and  charities, 
The  sweet  and  gentle  courtesies 

Ye  from  each  other  thus  evoke  at  play, 
Are  treasures  inly  stored  away. 

Into  their  forms,  like  dew  into  the  flower 

The  Lord  distills  his  vivifying  power, 
And  blessing's  they  become  for  ever  ; 
States  of  the  mind  which  perish  never  ; 


BIRTH      OF      A       CHILD.  19 

But  losing  every  tint  of  sadness 
Return  with  multiplying  gladness  ; 
Germs  of  eternal  happiness 
Which  never  cease  to  grow  and  bless  ; 
Strength  for  the  seasons  of  temptation, 
Means  of  eventual  renovation, 
The  bonds  that  link  us  to  the  angels  most — 
The  light  which  may  be  hidden,but  never  can  be  lost ! 

vi . 

The  Golden  Age  so  full  of  love  ant!  grace 
Was  but  the  sunny  childhood  of  our  race  ; 
And  its  bright  angels  from  the  inmost  heaven 
As  guardian-spirits  to  our  babes  are  given. 
Thus  childhood  with  its  sweet  conditions, 
Its  pure,  angelic  intuitions, 

Its  gentle,  untaught  sympathies, 
And  all  its  dear  credulities, 
Is  a  bright  record  which  may  prove 

To  skeptic  sensualists  extreme 
The  possibility  of  love, 

And  old  traditions  not  a  dream. 
It  is  a  symbol  of  our  primal  glory, 
The  sweet-toned  echo  of  its  wondrous  story  ; 


20     ODE      ON     THE      BIKTH      OF      A     CHILD. 

A  fragment  beautiful  and  ample, 
A  column  of  the  buried  temple. 
Yet  are  these  vestiges  of  daylight  gone, 
Purplings  prophetic  of  another  sun, 
Beneath  whose  glorious  illustration 
Shall  come  the  promised  restoration 
From  sin  and  grief  and  pain  ; 
When  Man  shall  be  a  Child  again  ! 
And  in  whose  light,  more  plastic  far  than  ours, 
The  angels  of  the  highest  heaven  appear 
To  those  who  view  them  from  an  humbler  sphere 
As  naked  infants  garlanded  with  flowers. 


OUR   LITTLE    ALECK. 


WHEN  thou  wert  born,  my  angel  boy  ! 

I  wrote  a  song  for  thee  ; 
The  music  of  that  wondrous  joy 

Which  thou  wert  then  to  me. 

Alas  !  alas  !  the  tribute  lay, 

My  heart  so  fondly  gave, 
In  requiem  echoes  died  away 

Upon  thy  little  grave. 

Soon,  soon  the  fountains  which  supplied 
Thy  precious  wants  went  dry, 

But  sorrow's  never-ebbing  tide 
Yet  fills  thy  mother's  eye. 


22  OUK     LITTLE     ALECK. 

Mute  her  guitar's  mi  tended  strings, 
Her  book  lies  on  the  shelf ; 

She  weeps  o'er  all  thy  little  things 
As  if  they  were  thyself; 

As  if  they  were  that  beauteous  form 

We  left  in  earth  alone, 
The  little  cage  whence  bright  and  warm 

The  heavenly  bird  had  flown. 

0  Aleck  !  since  thy  little  star 
Hath  vanished  into  heaven, 

All  earthly  things  have  seemed  ajar, 
And — may  we  be  forgiven 

If  it  is  sinful !  but  we  crave 
What  Heaven  will  surely  give, 

Death  with  thy  body  in  the  grave 
And  life  where  thou  dost  live. 


THE    LOST    TREASURE. 


Oft  in  the  sunny  Spring 

When  pretty  buds  are  peeping, 
Sad  are  the  thoughts  they  bring, 
How  can  we  •  cease  from  weeping  ? 
Our  own  sweet  Bud, 
So  pure  and  good, 
In  which  our  hearts  delighted, 
The  spoiler's  breath, 
The  frost  of  Death, 
Our  own  sweet  Bud  has  blighted. 
So,  in  the  sunny  Spring, 

When  pretty  buds  are  peeping, 
Sad  are  the  thoughts  they  bring, 
How  can  we  cease  from  weeping? 


24  THE     LOST     TREASURE 

Oft  on  the  Summer  morns, 

When  azure  birds  are  flying, 
Our  hearts  amid  their  thorns 
Are  sighing,  ever  sighing. 
Our  own  sweet  Bird 
No  more  is  heard, 
Its  heavenly  flight  is  taken ! 
Its  light  is  gone, 
Its  music  flown, 
And  we  are  left  forsaken  ! 
So,  on  the  Summer  morns, 

When  azure  birds  are  flying, 
Our  hearts  amid  their  thorns, 
Are  sighing,  ever  sighing. 


Oft  on  the  Autumn  days, 

When  blight  is  all-pervading, 
We  smile  with  thankful  praise 
That  Life  itself  is  fading. 
How  glad  and  free, 
0  !  we  shall  be 
To  drop  its  heavy  burden  ! 


THE     LOST     TKEASUKE.  25 

Our  Bud  shall  spring,          , 
Our  Bird  shall  sing 
Again,  beyond  the  Jordan  ! 
So,  in  the  Autumn  days, 

When  blight  is  all-pervading, 
We  smile  with  thankful  praise 
That  Life  itself  is  fading-. 


OUR    THKEE    CHILDREN. 


WITH  three  sweet  children  are  we  blest  ! 

Aleck  we  feel  but  cannot  see  ; 
Warwick  is  at  his  mother's  breast, 

And  Lucy  on  her  father's  knee  ; 
Five  forms,  united,  yet  apart — 
Five  faces  and  a  single  heart. 

Aleck,  the  happiest,  passed  away 
Softly  as  sunset  into  heaven, 

A  seraph-child,  on  earth  astray, 

And  back  to  seeking  Seraphs  given  ; 

But  casting  on  us  from  above 

His  double  image  for  our  love. 

We  need  no  little  sepulcher 
Where  roses  and  sweet-williams  grow, 


OUR      THREE      CHILDREN.  27 

No  little  garments  kept  with  care, 

No  little  playthings — treasured  so  ! 
We  need  no  tokens  of  such  kind 
To  keep  our  angel-boy  in  mind. 

He  comes  in  Lucy's  shining  face 

And  in  her  ringlets,  strand  for  strand, 

His  little  gestures,  full  of  grace, 

Are  made  with  Warwick's  dimpled  hand  ; 

Through  Lucy's  lips  we  hear  him  speak, 

We  kiss  his  tears  from  Warwick's  cheek. 

Our  Aleck  is  a  little  star 

That  leads  our  hearts  to  Bethlehem, 
With  angel-voices  from  afar. 

Jesus,  our  Lord !  we  follow  them  ; 
We  bring  to  Thee  with  faith  intense 
Our  gold,  our  myrrh,  our  frankincense  ! 


THE    ANGEL    OF    MOKNING. 


I  CANNOT  discover  my  face  to  your  sight, 

Nor  tell  you  the  name  which  in  heaven  I  bear  : 

That  face  would  dissolve  into  haloes  of  light, 
The  name  into  musical  tones  on  the  air. 

But,  breathing  the  life  of  an  age  which  has  gone, 
You  may  call  me  Aurora,  the  far-shining  one, 

Who  dwells  in  the  shell-tinctured  tent  of  the  morn, 
And  sits  like  a  page  at  the  feet  of  the  sun. 

I  watch  o'er  the  beautiful  souls  who  begin 
The  morning  of  life  undefaced  by  a  stain, 

And  o'er  those  who  awake   from  the  dark  night 

of  sin 
To  the .  spiritual  morning,  like  children  again. 


IS    THIS    THE     SPOT? 


Is  this  the  spot  where  once  so  well 
My  taskless  childhood  loved  to  stray  ? 

Where  now  the  sweet  but  nameless  spell 
Which  lured  mine  idle  step  away  ? 

The  charms  which  then  my  fancy  fed 

In  vain  I  now  essay  to  find, 
The  Spirit  of  the  place  has  fled 

And  left  its  grosser  part  behind. 

The  rocks  are  not  so  quaint  and  gray, 
The  leaves  are  not  so  fresh  and  green  • 

The  brook  upon  its  noisy  way 

Is  cheerless  through  the  sylvan  scene. 


30  IS      THIS      THE      SPOT? 

I  am  not  raptured  now  to  hear 

The  warbled  joys  from  every  bough  ; 

The  witching  sky,  so  blue  and  clear, 
Is  but  a  common  prospect  now. 

'Tis  I  have  changed  !  for  nature  still 
To  childhood's  heart  is  just  as  dear, 

And  forests,  waters,  field  and  hill 
Have  music  for  its  listening  ear. 

The  dream  of  youth,  which  comes  to  all, 
Has  passed  like  bright  Aurora's  train  ; 

Sweet  Memory  may  its  form  recall, 
But  cannot  give  its  power  again. 

The  silvery  streamlet  of  the  glen, 
Which  loves  and  fairies  hovered  o'er, 

Has  flowed  into  the  haunts  of  men 
And  lost  its  beauties  evermore. 


CHILDHOOD. 


0  SCENES  of  my  Childhood  !  ye  cannot  restore  me 
The  light  and  the  glow  of  my  life's  early  dawn  ; 

The  gardens,  the  meadows,  the  hills  are  before  me, 
But  something  which  gave  them  their  glory  has 
gone. 

The  roses  are  blooming  by  zephyr  still  haunted, 
And  evening  all  dreamily  sits  by  the  stream  ; 

But  ah  !  not  the  roses  my  sweet  mother  planted, 
And  ah  !    not   the  evening  when  love  was  the 
dream ! 

Like  skies  in  the  depth  of  a  bright  lake  inverted, 
Heaven  lies  in  the  heart  of  our  childhood  serene ; 

But  dark  as  that  water  by  sunlight  deserted 
Is  the  spirit  where  Time  with  its  shadow  hath 
been. 


32  CHILDHOOD. 

The  best  of  the  Angels  who  love  us  and  guide  us 
Attend  upon  Childhood  and  gladden  its  way  ; 

But  subtly  the  Demons  of  evil  divide  us 
And  lead  the  young  flocks  from  their  shepherds 
astray. 

Though  far  from  their  care,  and  in  spite  of  their 
warning 

We  wander  away  on  a  sorrowful  track, 
Those  Angels  of  youth,  on  the  hills  of  the  morning, 

Stand  star-like  in  glory  and  beckon  us  back. 

Their  eyes  still  pursue  us  with  radiant  affection, 
They  sigh  that  our  life  from  their  own  is  with 
drawn, 

We  feel  their  regrets,  and  with  fond  recollection 
We  sigh  in  return  that  our  childhood  has  gone. 


TO    MY    MOTHEK. 


No  fresh  green  spot  of  Spring  is  found, 
The  wintry  snow  has  clad  the  ground, 
The  cold  air  has  no  joyful  sound, 
My  mother  ! 

Hushed  is  the  water's  note  of  glee, 
No  song  comes  from  the  birdless  tree, 
But  yet  I  have  a  song  for  thee, 

My  mother  ! 

For  till  the  light  of  love  depart, 
There  is  a  spring  within  my  heart 
Of  which  the  changeless  sun  thou  art, 
My  mother  ! 

o* 


34  TO      MY      MOTHER. 

When  childhood  welcomed  bird  and  bee, 
When  music  breathed  from  every  tree, 
When  thou  wert  all  in  all  to  me, 
My  mother  ! 

When  nature's  sunlight  on  my  brow 
Was  not  so  tinged  with  shade  as  now, 
And  all  things  seemed  as  kind  as  thou, 

My  mother  ! 

My  view  of  life  was  like  a  scene 
Deep-mirrored  in  a  lake  serene, 
Bright,  loving  skies  and  hills  of  green, 
My  mother  ! 

The  picture  now  is  not  so  fair, 
For  winds  of  doubt  and  clouds  of  care 
Have  broke  the  glittering  calmness  there, 
My  mother  ! 

But  still  the  memory  of  thy  face 
All  later  memories  can  replace, 
The  winds  can  calm — the  clouds  can  chase - 
My  mother  ! 


TO      MY      MOTHEK.  35 

And  to  the  spirit  sorrow-riven 
Restore  that  light  so  early  given, 
The  light  that  leads — with  thee — to  heaven, 
My  mother  ! 


THE    FIRST    FLOWER 


0  BEAUTIFUL  and  glorious  birth  ! 

We  bless  thee,  child-like  one  ! 
Born  of  our  sacred  mother  Earth 

And  fathered  by  the  Sun. 

Hail !  sweet  and  solitary  Flower  ! 

Like  the  first  star  above, 
That  comes  before  his  evening  hour 

As  on  a  work  of  love  ; 

Like  the  first  faint  and  tender  light 
The  crescent  moon  displays  ; 

Like  the  first  touch  of  ether  bright 
Before  the  morning's  blaze  ; 


THE      FIRST      FLOWER.  37 

Like  the  first  pleasant  woodland  sound 

The  Southern  warblers  bring, 
Which  follow  o'er  the  greening  ground 

The  dewy  step  of  Spring. 

Evening  has  now  a  gentler  beam, 

And  Morn  a  brighter  glow ; 
While  mountain  summits  give  the  stream 

Their  fast  dissolving  snow. 

Thus,  from  the  varied  mental  year 

May  wintry  sorrows  flee  ! 
And  the  first  bud  of  Joy  appear, 

0  beauteous  Flower,  with  thee  ! 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE   BLUE  RIDGE. 


Thou  dearest  Mountain  of  the  range ! 

At  whose  eternal  base  I  drew 
My  breath,  and  where  I  would  exchange 

Earth's  light  for  heaven's  unfolding  view  ; 

My  sensuous  body  stands  afar, 
An  alien  form  in  toil  and  pain  ; 

My  Spirit,  leaping  like  a  star, 
Looks  from  thy  sunny  side  again. 

Beneath  the  glow  of  summer  day 

Thy  linked  sisters  sweetly  lie, 
Stretching  their  soft  blue  arms  away, 

Almost  incorporate  with  the  sky. 


THE     BLUE     RIDGE.  39 

One  bird,  like  single  ship  at  sea, 

Swims  on  the  shining  air  alone  ; 
The  rivulet,  like  a  child  astray, 

Weeps  o'er  its  couch  of  mountain  stone. 

The  wind  sighs  gently  through  the  pine 
With  that  ethereal  sound  which  stirs, 

In  soft  responsive  hearts  like  mine, 

Thoughts  that  are  symboled  best  by  tears. 

Down,  down  the  valley,  glimmering  far, 
My  native  town,  embowered  in  trees, 

Sends  up  its  household  smoke  in  air 
To  melt  into  the  passing  breeze. 

While  casual  from  the  forest  green 

Beams  out  old  James's  sparkling  crest  ; 

Where  oft  in  boyhood  I  have  seen 
His  silver  roll  of  morning  mist. 

And  yonder  is  the  sacred  ground 

Where  many  a  friend  and  kinsman  lies ; 

The  sun,  from  many  a  marbled  mound, 
Glints  brightly  to  my  moistened  eyes. 


40  THE     BLUEEIDGE. 

Alas  !  the  scene,  so  sweet  and  fair, 
Fades  like  dissolving  fairy  spell  ; 

A  spectral  twilight  films  the  air, 

And  dirges  hreak  from  memory's  bell  ! 


MY    LITTLE    NED    AND    I. 


MY  little  playmate  's  dead  and  gone  ! 

I  gave  him  many  a  tear  ! 
A  merry  little  negro  boy, 

Just  twelve  years  old  this  year. 
Alas  !  that  on  my  childhood's  heart 

So  great  a  grief  should  lie  ! 
We  '11  no  more  play,  by  night  or  day, 

My  little  Ned  and  I  ! 

He  was  my  shadow  where  I  went, 

Subservient  to  my  will, 
But  with  enduring  gentleness 

He  made  me  gentler  still. 
We  climb'd  the  trees,  we  bridged  the  brook, 

We  chased  the  butterfly ; 
We'll  no  more  play,  by  night  or  day, 

My  little  Ned  and  I  ! 


42  MY     LITTLE     NED     AND     I. 

I  knew,  when  he  became  so  ill, 

His  little  soul  would  go, 
Although  my  mother  nursed  him  well, 

And  the  doctor  said,  "Oh  no  !" 
For  I  had  dreamed  I  saw  his  face 

Look  smiling  from  the  sky  ; 
We'll  no  more  play,  by  night  or  day, 

My  little  Ned  and  I  ! 

I  heard  him  talking  to  himself 

About  the  children  fair, 
With  spangled  dresses,  all  so  fine, 

Who  played  around  him  there  ; 
He  whispered  low  and  promised  them 

To  join  them  by  and  by  ; 
We  '11  no  more  play,  by  night  or  day, 

My  little  Ned  and  I  ! 

That  long,  long  night  we  watched  his  death, 

The  dogs  howled  at  the  door, 
The  owls  cried  from  the  forest  tree 

A  hundred  times  or  more  ; 
My  mother  closed  his  glazing  eyes, 

Whilst  I  stood  sobbing  by  ; 


MY     LITTLE      NED     AND     I.  43 

We  '11  no  more  play,  by  night  or  day, 
My  little  Ned  and  I  ! 

And  when  the  great  plantation  bell 

Kesounded  for  the  roll, 
The  roll-call  of  the  heavens  received 

Another  shining  soul. 
I  am  a  schoolboy  now — and  he — 

An  angel  in  the  sky  ; 
We  '11  no  more  play,  by  night  or  day, 

My  little  Ned  and  I ! 


THE     STRAY    LAMB. 


WHAT  dost  thou,  timid  creature  !  here, 
In  mute  astonishment  and  fear, 
Gazing  so  meekly  up  and  down 
The  crowded  avenues  of  town  ? 
While  at  some  window,  far  away, 
Regardless  now  of  books  or  play, 
Thy  little  mistress  sits  forlorn, 
Disconsolate  since  thou  hast  gone  ; 
Like  a  poor  mother,  full  of  fears, 
Weeping  and  watching  through  her  tears  ; 
Weeping  for  one  allured  to  roam 
From  all  the  sanctities  of  home, 


THE      STRAY      LAMB.  45 

And  wander  down  life's  devious  way, 
From  duty,  love  and  peace  astray, 
Watching,  with  each  returning  sun, 
For  him — the  unreturning  one. 

Poor  truant  nursling  of  the  fold  ! 
Bewildered,  lonely,  sad  and  cold, 
Remote  from  thy  congenial  sphere, 
Unloved,  unled,  unpitied  here, 
Dost  thou  not  gaze  far  down  the  street, 
Where  woods  and  skies  in  vista  meet — 
The  woods  of  greenest,  fairest  hue, 
The  skies  of  brightest,  loving  blue — 
And  fancy  what  awaits  thee  there  ? 
A  life  serene,  a  lustrous  air, 
A  shaded,  quiet,  cool  retreat, 
A  haven  from  the  dust  and  heat, 
With  longings  such  as  poet  feels 
For  what  his  inward  sense  reveals, 
With  visions  such  as  mortals  have 
Of  life  and  rest  beyond  the  grave. 

Lives  there  a  man  could  pass  thee  by 
With  busy  step  and  heedless  eye, 


46  THE      STRAY      LAMB. 

Nor  through  the  veil  of  seeming  chance 
Discern  thy  true  significance  ? 
A  still  small  voice  I  deein  thou  art, 
A  brief,  bright  moral  to  the  heart ; 
One  of  those  lessons  round  us  strown 
In  sounds  and  colors,  leaf  and  stone, 
Whereby  consoling  angels  can 
Converse  in  symbols  still  with  man  ; 
Such  as  a  violet's  modest  face 
Illumining  some  desert  place, 
A  single  star,  whose  eye  of  light 
Peers  underneath  some  cloud  of  night  ; 
A  smile  of  resignation  meek, 
Sparkling  on  sorrow's  furrowed  cheek  ; 
A  child's  dear  shout  of  merriment, 
A  wild  bird's  carol  of  content, 
Bursting  upon  us  unawares, 
When  we  are  burdened  down  with  cares  ; 
Melodious  memories  unsought, 
Startling  us  into  pleasant  thought ; 
Things  of  an  evanescent  power 
Brief  as  the  fragrance  of  a  flower, 
Which,  having  been,  may  be  no  more, 
But  leave  us  better  than  before. 


THE      STRAY      LAMB.  47 

There  is  not  in  this  world  of  sin 

A  soul  so  deeply  sunk  therein, 

Thronged  though  it  be  with  crimes  and  cares, 

Eevenges,  malices,  despairs  ; 

However  dire  the  phantoms  there, 

However  pestilent  its  air, 

However  dreary  its  abodes, 

And  dedicate  to  demon-gods, 

But  in  its  thoroughfares,  night  and  day, 

There  ever  is  some  Lamb  astray, 

Some  light  from  heaven,  some  fragment  thence 

Of  primal  love  and  innocence, 

Which  keeps  the  angels  on  its  track 

To  lead,  and  love,  and  lure  it  back  ! 


LITTLE    JULE. 


LITTLE  Jule  at  yonder  sod 

Weeps  as  if  her  heart  would  "break  ; 
In  the  graveyard,  newly  trod, 
Weeps  for  little  Lucy's  sake  ! 
Angel  Lucy !  sweet  and  mild, 
Scarce  a  baby,  scarce  a  child  : 
Slowly,  softly  laid  away 
Underneath  the  fearful  clay  ; 
Kisses  on  her  little  brow, 
Ah  !  she  does  not  feel  them  now  ! 
Koses  on  her  little  bosom, 
Her  sweet  self  a  broken  blossom  ! 
Now  the  ladies  turn  away 

With  their  weeping  almost  blind  ; 
Little  Jule  in  twilight  gray 
Lingers  weeping  still  behind. 


LITTLE      JULE.  49 

Little  slave  !  why  shouldst  thou  care 

Thus  thy  foolish  heart  to  break  ; 
Weeping  solitary  here 

For  this  little  Lucy's  sake  ? 
0  the  world  is  cold  and  lone  ! 
Little  mistress  dead  and  gone  ! 
Little  playthings  put  away, 
Things  for  tears  and  not  for  play  ; 
Little  cradle,  rocked  no  more, 
All  the  little  prattling  o'er  ! 
Every  little  pout  forgot, 
And  a  frown  remembered  not, 
Every  little  kiss  and  word 
Doubly,  trebly,  now  endeared. — 
Let  her  watch  and  let  her  weep 
At  the  little  new-made  grave ! 
Sacred  watch  will  Angels  keep 
O'er  the  mistress  and  the  slave  ! 


ROSEBUD    AND     SUNBEAM. 


A  ROSEBUD  unfolded  its  leaves  to  the  view, 
All  crimson  with  beauty,  all  brightened  with  dew, 
Like  a  soul  which  has  fallen  from  happier  spheres, 
Yet  smiling  with  hope  through  its  penitent  tears. 

A  Sunbeam  came  down  to  the  heart  of  the  Rose, 
Like  a  thought  which  illumines  the  mind  where 

it  glows  ; 
Like  an  angel  come  down  from  the  bright  world 

of  bliss 
To  commune  with  some  beautiful  spirit  in  this. 

When  homeward  the  Sunbeam  retreated  at  even, 
The  soul  of  the  Flower  went  as  fragrance  to  heaven, 
As  the  heart  which  has  cherished  some  Truth  from 

above, 
Ascends  with  that  Truth  to  the  regions  of  Love. 


SUBSTANCE    AND     SHADOW, 


OK,    THE    CHILD     AND    THE    RIVULET. 


I  SEE  a  bright  and  joyous  Child  astray 
Along  the  Brooklet  in  a  vernal  meadow ; 

I  watch  their  gentle  harmonies  at  play, 

As  one  might  watch  a  violet  and  its  shadow. 


Is  not  the  Bivulet's  verdure,  sweet  and  wild, 
Symbol  of  something  in  the  living  creature  ? 

The  thoughts  and  loves  and  raptures  of  the  Child 
In  flower-forms  imaged  on  the  face  of  nature  ? 

Those  sounds  which  make  the  listener's  heart  rejoice, 
Those  jubilant  notes  upon  the  ether  flying, 

Have  in  the  rippling  Stream  an  answering  Voice 
Like  their  own  echoes  from  the  earth  replying. 


52  SUBSTANCE      AND      SHADOW, 

Those  smiles  of  innocent  beauty,  sign  and  seal 
Of  angel-presence  in  the  young  affection, 

Are  like  these  sheeny  sparkles  which  reveal 
The  loving  sun  in  thousand-fold  reflection. 

From  ancient  hills  beneath  auroral  beam 

Crept  out  the  Brook  with  dewy  kisses  laden, 

Pure,  bright  and  silent,  like  the  human  Stream, 
Forth-stealing  from  the  golden  gates  of  Eden. 

Unvexed,  unviolated,  free  they  roam, 

Those  mated  currents  gloriously  outflowing, 

The  light  and  music  of  their  little  home, 
Keceiving  joy  and  double  joy  bestowing. 

Each  in  its  sphere  of  action  onward  pours, 
Lapsing  away  from  early  bird  and  blossom, 

Till  strange  creations  rise  upon  its  shores, 
And  mighty  shadows  sink  into  its  bosom. 

The  human  channel  wears  into  the  grave, 
Losing  on  earth  its  individual  motion, 

While  its  bright  symbol,  the  complying  Wave, 
Gives  up  its  being  to  the  wasteful  ocean. 


OR    THE    CHILD    AND    THE    RIVULET.       53 

But  lo  !  the  halcyon  vision  re-appears  ! 

An  Angel  stands  beside  the  Crystal  River  ! 
The  heart  of  Childhood  in  celestial  spheres 

Is  pictured  in  the  Stream  of  Life  forever  ! 

Truth  lies  concealed  within  this  metaphor  ; 

Substance  is  dual  in  its  every  feature  ; 
Our  Souls  are  mirrored  all  around  us  here, 

Our  liv^s  repeated  in  the  forms  of  Nature. 


THE    INVISIBLE. 


I  've  heard  sweet  bells  upon  the  breeze 

When  none  were  ringing, 
And  the  soft  sound  of  waving  trees, 

And  insect-singing. 

Though  in  the  woodland,  still  and  deep, 

No  leaf  was  falling, 
And  e'en  the  clouds  were  laid  asleep. 

They  were  Spirits  calling  : 

Voices  they  were  with  whisperings 

Of  friends  departed  ; 
Angels  they  were  with  comf or  tings 

For  the  weary-hearted. 


THE     PICTUKE. 


I  SAW  a  lovely  Picture 

In  a  gallery  of  Art, 
Which  charmed  me  like  an  April  rose, 

And  I  wear  it  in  my  heart; 
Not  like  the  rose  of  gardens, 

Which  withers  soon  away, 
But  planted  in  my  heart  of  hearts, 

It  never  shall  decay. 


It  was  a  blooming  Maiden, 

So  beautiful  and  pure, 
T'was  mirrored  from  an  angePs  face 

In  a  vision,  I  am  sure. 


56  THE      PICTURE. 

A  Dove  of  heavenly  plumage 

Upon  her  bosom  lay  ; 
I  saw  the  Spirit  of  the  Dove 

Around  her  lips  at  play. 

I  longed  to  see  the  Painter, 

I  longed  to  grasp  his  hand, 
I  know  there  is  a  common  ground 

Whereon  we  two  could  stand. 
I  know  he  has  been  happy, 

And  his  heart  is  full  of  love, 
Or  he  never  could  have  imaged  forth 

That  Maiden  and  her  Dove. 

For  as  the  Dove  resembles 

The  Virgin's  spotless  thought, 
So  is  this  Picture  like  the  Soul 

From  which  it  was  outwrought  ; 
And  of  that  glorious  Spirit 

I  catch  a  radiant  part, 
Which  I  have  called  a  rose — and  plant 

Forever  in  my  heart. 


RECOVERY   FROM    YELLOW    FEVER. 


OH  joy  !  the  crisis  comes  !     Earth  bears  me  back 
Triumphant  from  the  fearful  grasp  of  Night 
Unto  the  myriad  scenes  of  Life  again. 
The  pleasant  morn  is  shining  in  my  face, 
I  hear  the  loud  wind  blowing  in  the  trees, 
Ah  me  !  how  musically !  I  behold 
The  clouds  glide  by  my  window  on  their  far, 
Deep  journeys  in  the  sky,  and  I  would  send 
Praises  and  thanks,  could  they  be  messengers 
Of  aught  emotional.     Upon  the  fields, 
Upon  the  woods,  the  waters,  everywhere, 
Sunlight  has  dropt  his  colors,  and  they  lie 
In  bright  and  living  beauty.     What  a  world 
Of  wonders  do  I  see,  hear,  feel  again  ! 


58  RECOVERY      FROM 

Late  I  was  curtained  from  the  happy  round 
Of  day  and  night,  and  from  all  human  things  ; 
Pained,  fevered,  tortured,  stupored  by  disease. 
Death,  who  e'er  stalks  the  garden  of  our  life, 
Gathering  the  withered  blossoms  to  his  hand, 
Whilst  the  soul-essences  exhale  to  heaven, 
Surveyed  me  with  fixed  eye.     Dire  phantasy 
Crowded  the  burning  chambers  of  the  brain 
With  frightful  images.     Tempests  at  sea, 
Storms,  heaving,  blackening,  roaring  o'er  the  land, 
Painful  and  difficult  escapes  from  peril, 
And  all  imaginable  scenes  of  blood — 
Staggering  in  flight,  from  fierce  hyena  howls, 
O'er  the  hot  sands  of  silent  wildernesses — 
From  crag  to  crag,  down  to  some  unknown  beach, 
Interminably  falling,  falling,  falling — 
Or  swimming,  floating  far  away,  forlorn, 
In  uproar  of  the  elemental  world — 
Such  were  my  dreams  of  horror.     Sounds  I  heard 
But  not  interpretable,  and  I  saw 
Gigantic  shapes  in  threatening  attitudes 
Stalking  athwart  the  murky  air,  which  lay 
Like  a  sea-mist  betwixt  me  and  the  sun. 


YELLOW      FEVER.  59 

When  the  fierce  morbid  fires  had  paled  away, 
Left  powerless,  trembling  on  the  sluggish  verge 
Of  Lethe's  ashen  water,  I  beheld 
A  soft  array  of  gentler,  brighter  scenes, 
Yet  touched  with  melancholy.     The  old  brook 
Whereby  I  spent  my  wild  vacation  hours, 
With  a  loved  playmate's  sweet,  alluring  voice, 
Called  me  to  ramble  with  it  down  the  glen, 
Twirling  the  leaves  and  kissing  all  the  flowers  ; 
But  when  I  thought  I  reached  its  sparkling  brim, 
The  voice  went  further  down  the  dale,  receding, 
Which  I  pursued  o'er  rugged  rocks,  alone, 
Till  I  despaired,  for  it  receded  still, 
Smiling  through  trees  and  calling  as  it  ran. 
Then  saw  I  Florence  in  the  orchard  walks 
Float  o'er  the  ground  like  music,  bright  as  June, 
Sporting  with  golden  locks  and  childish  joy 
About  the  rose-red  apples.     And  I  went 
Searching  and  sighing  through  the  mellowed  shade. 
From  path  to  path,  from  tree  to  tree,  in  pain, 
Searching  and  sighing,  for  the  fairy  form 
Had  vanished  like  a  sunbeam.     Last  I  heard 
Eemote  but  clear  a  bell  of  strangest  sound, 
Ringing  and  ringing  in  a  dark,  green  wood, 


60  RECOVERY      FROM 

Such  pure,  sweet,  melting,  holy  cadences, 
That  eagerly  with  tears  I  followed  them, 
But  chased  the  flying  echoes  all  in  vain, 
And  stood  in  ancient  solitudes  of  shade 
Silent  and  wonder-riven,  whilst  overhead 
Angels  were  whispering  in  the  summer  air. 

As  'twere  a  river  of  life  and  human  sense, 
A  gentle  river  ebbing  to  the  sea, 
Dripping  away  from  lawn,  and  field,  and  bower, 
From  all  that  loved  it  and  from  all  it  loved, 
Seemed  my  own  soul  when  passing,  as  I  thought. 
From  earth  and  all  its  dear  ones.     Sad  I  stood 
At  the  dark  gateway  which  divides  our  lives 
Present  and  future.     One  sweet  form  was  near, 
Made  mine  in  heaven  and  earth,  whose  angel  face 
Shone  star-like  round  the  darkness  of  my  couch. 
The  rest  were  happy  in  Virginian  homes. 
Strangers  would  bury  me  and  leave  my  grave 
Unmarked,  unvisited  by  friends  or  flowers. 
Then,  like  a  picture  looming  from  afar, 
I  saw  a  little  family  of  grief  : 
A  noble,  gray-haired,  venerable  man, 
Bowed  silently  ;  my  kind  old  grandmother 


YELLOW      FEVER.  61 

Grieved  in  her  corner  at  the  common  loss  ; 
My  pale-faced  mother  praying  through  her  tears  ; 
And  a  sad  group  of  manly  brothers,  touched 
Each  his  own  way  with  sorrow.     But  they  passed 
Like  shadows  o'er  my  brain,  and  then  came  on 
A  crowd  of  undistinguishable  thoughts, 
Hopes,  fears  and  wishes,  but  not  unillurned 
By  calms  of  prayer  and  some  few  blissful  gleams 
Of  Heaven's  eternal  city. 

Author  of  Life  !  from  whom  I  have  derived 
This  fresh,  warm  stream  which  quickens  now  my 

spirit, 

So  let  me  keep  it  for  my  daily  being, 
So  use  it  in  Thy  will — that  without  fear 
And  with  the  resignation  of  a  heart 
Made  Thine  entirely,  I  may  give  it  back 
At  Thine  own  bidding  ! 


THE    MOUNTAIN    HEIGHT. 


OH  !   for  the  bold  and  breezy  height 
Of  some  old  Alp  or  Appenine, 

Waving  with  oak  and  laurel  bright, 
Or  cedar  and  the  odorous  pine  ; 
Kadiantly  colored  with  the  shine 

Of  summer  sun,  and  far  above 
This  dull  and  dusty  atmosphere, 
Where  man  is  racked  with  toil  and  care, 

And  little  knows  or  feels  of  love  1 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  vast  trees, 
On  such  a  summit  I  could  lie 

All  the  bright  afternoon  at  ease. 
And  from  the  aerial  station  spy 


THE      MOUNTAIN      HEIGHT.  63 

The  spread  of  valleys  far  and  wide, 
Sloping  to  hills  on  either  side, 

Tinctured  with  sunlight  and  the  gleams 
Of  clustered  domes  and  rural  homes, 

Of  groves,  green  knolls,  and  glinting  streams, 
And  all  that  makes  life  rich  and  sweet, 
Brilliantly  pictured  at  my  feet  : 

Till  all  things  darkened  from  afar 
And  Twilight  solemn,  slow  and  late, 
Came  weeping  from  the  western  gate 

Of  heaven  and  lit  her  single  star. 

Nor  sad  nor  lonely  I  would  note 

In  the  sweet  hush  of  mountain  air, 
From  all  the  life  of  man  remote 

What  glorious  tides  of  life  are  there  ! 
An  insect  world,  with  joy  replete, 
Would  throb  serenely  at  my  feet  ; 
The  birds  in  every  arbored  nook 
Be  musical ;    the  new-born  brook, 
From  its  rock-cradle  peeping  forth, 
Would  lisp  the  secret  of  its  birth, 
And  stealing  with  a  pleasant  sheen 
Like  infant-smile,  from  out  the  shade, 


64  THE      MOUNTAIN      HEIGHT. 

Fling  careless  down  the  deep  ravine 
And  shatter  into  white  cascade  : 

A  thing  of  motion,  music,  mirth  ! 
As  if  a  rainbow,  tempest-riven, 
Had  melted  from  the  walls  of  heaven 

And  made  a  rivulet  on  the  earth. 

And  see  !    on  subtlest  ether  borne, 

The  floating  palaces  of  cloud  ! 
Suburban  villas  of  the  sun, 
Wrought  by  the  winds  in  gorgeous  mold, 
With  sapphire  tissues,  pearl  and  gold  ! 
Behind  whose  transitory  walls, 
Sits  Orion  in  his  starry  halls, 

Tuning  his  lyre  for  coming  night, 
Which  those  can  almost  hear  who  stand 

Upon  the  lustrous  mountain  height, 
A  promontory  of  the  Land, 

Far-stretching  in  a  Sea  of  Light. 


SPIBITUAL    FLOWERS. 


IN  every  human  heart  there  grows 
A  sister  pair  of  fadeless  flowers  ; 

Truth  is  the  Lily — Love  the  Rose — 
Transplanted  from  celestial  bowers. 

'Tis  watchful  Duty's  gentle  care, 
To  keep  them  ever  in  her  sight  ; 

To  feed  them  on  the  beams  of  air, 

And  shield  them  from  the  dews  of  night. 

And  when  they've  filled  the  little  sphere 
To  earthly  joys  and  sorrows  given, 

Commissioned  Angels  will  appear, 
And  bear  the  exiles  back  to  heaven. 


TO    A    ROSE. 


ABOUT  thy  form,  0  child  of  Spring, 
The  trilling  blue-bird  loves  to  sing, 
And  bees  and  winds  and  dews  repair 
To  taste  the  breathing  fragrance  there  ; 
But  not  thy  beauties  outward  shown, 
Are  treasures  to  my  heart  alone  : 
For,  radiant  Eose  !    thou  art  to  me 
The  pledge  of  things  I  can  not  see, 
A  Messenger,  a  Mystery. 

0,  were  the  lustrous  fountain  sought, 
Sweet  symbol  of  ethereal  thought  ! 
From  whence  thy  stream  of  being  sprung, 
Outflowing  thus  so  bright  and  young  ; 


TOAROSE.  67 

Methinks,  0  Kosc  !   it  would  be  found 
A  Fountain  on  celestial  ground, 
Whence  God's  divinest  blessings  flow, 
Through  spirit-realms  to  man  below, 
And  duplicate  on  nature's  face 
The  tokens  of  his  power  and  grace. 

Then,  lovely  Herald  !   linger  long, 

Like  echo  of  an  angel's  song, 

Like  angel-thought  from  brighter  sphere, 

In  beauty  architectured  here. 

And  when  thy  tissues  fade  and  fall, 

This  moral  shall  my  heart  recall, 

Our  life  is  never  lost  wrhen  gone, 

But  life  to  deeper  life  withdrawn  ! 


THE    CHIMES. 


THE  stillness  of  the  sunny  Sabbath  morn 

Is  broken  by  a  chime  of  tuneful  bells  ! 

The  strains  of  this  aerial  music  come 

Loud,  long  and  cheerful,  swelling  forth  in  glee  ; 

Then  die  complainingly  upon  the  air, 

And  when  you  pause  and  list,  and  deem  them  gone, 

Break  out  again  in  freshness  and  in  joy. 

Oft  have  I  hearkened  to  the  varying  peal, 

And  fondly  dreamed  ("  which  was  not  all  a  dream") 

That  in  the  intonations  there  were  couched 

Expressions  for  each  passion  of  the  heart. 

The  soft  and  silver  tone  was  that  of  Hope, 
Stealing  persuasively  into  the  ear  ; 
Such  tone  as  I  have  thought  the  waters  gave 
When  tinkling  through  the  meadows  of  the  Spring, 


THE     CHIMES.  69 

Or  mated  birds,  in  glow  of  mutual  love, 

Building  their  nests  within  a  glittering  tent 

Of  blended  leaves  and  blossoms.     Quick  and  shrill 

A  s  wild  alarm  of  fire,  or  call  to  arms, 

Fear's  startled  voice,  but  changing  to  Despair, 

Its  throbs  tumultuous  slowly  softened  down, 

Through  tolling  bell  and  beat  of  muffled  drum, 

Down  into  breathless  silence.     Bursting  forth 

Without  a  discord  was  the  note  of  Joy, 

Full,  rapid  e'en  to  mirthfulness,  like  that 

With  which  my  childhood's  heart  leaped  up  to  heai 

My  village  church-bells,  in  the  Sabbath  sun, 

Peal  gaily  forth.     A  melancholy  voice, 

Yet  with  a  trace  of  Hope's  melodious  sound, 

A  gentle,  pensive,  beauteous  symphony, 

Dallying  in  fondness  on  the  patient  air, 

I  took  for  Love's,  and  treasured  in  my  soul. 

Too  well  I  knew  the  fitful  wail  of  Grief ! 

A  plaintive  song,  such  as  the  Autumn  wind 

Sings  softly  to  itself  in  faded  woods, 

Seeking  in  vain  the  many-colored  flowers 

The  Spring  had  promised.     And  my  soul  arose 

Higher  and  higher,  when  Triumphant  Faith, 

Exultant  o'er  calamity  and  death, 


70  THECHIMES. 

Poured  its  condensed  vibrations  on  the  air, 
Like  the  wild  chanting  of  cathedral  choirs, 
Or  the  far-smiting  thunder  of  the  sea  ; 
Yea — almost  imitative  of  that  song 
The  morning  angels,  in  their  flaming  robes, 
Kaise  for  the  coming  Sun. 

When  I  have  strayed 
Too  far  on  the  entangled  path  of  life, 
And  have  forgotten  Man's  great  destinies, 
0,  Sacred  Herald  !  call  me  sweetly  back 
By  the  pure  influence  of  thy  holy  chime. 
Wake  once  again  that  music  of  the  mind, 
When  pleasing  thoughts  like  pleasing  sounds  unite, 
And  melt  me  into  reverential  joy  ! 


ODE   TO   POWERS'  GREEK    SLAVE. 


IDEAL  of  all  hearts  !  what  hast  thou  done, 
Tims  fettered,  silent,  melancholy  ? 
Thou  !  beautiful,  serene  and  holy, 

As  mountain  summit  hallowed  by  the  Sun, 
Or  Star  dispensing  sweetest  light 
O'er  the  subdued  and  silent  realm  of  night. 

Can  Beauty  such  as  in  thy  form  appears 

Partake  our  common  hopes  and  fears  ? 

Feel  human  love  or  grieve  with  human  tears  ? 

In  the  serene  and  spiritual  atmosphere 
From  thy  pure  chastity  outflowing, 
Around  thee  luminously  glowing, 

We  do  forget  thy  mortal  grief  and  care ; 


72         ODE     TO     POWERS'    GREEK     SLAVE. 

And  see  thee  by  interior  light, 
A  Eevelation  to  our  mental  sight  ; 
Thy  Beauty  with  diviner  meaning  fraught, 
A  Shining  Hieroglyph  outwrought, 
Ethereal  vesture  of  Eternal  Thought ! 


Thou  art  the  entranced  Spirit  of  our  Kace 

Bowed  in  submissive  meditation, 

Silent  in  deep  humiliation, 
Unsphered  and  exiled  from  thy  heavenly  place  ; 

In  sin's  austerest  bondage  now, 

Yet  with  the  light  of  Eden  on  thy  brow, 
A  bow  of  promise,  shining  to  reprove 
Our  hearts,  incredulous  of  Love 
And  those  sweet  Powers  which  guide  us  from  above. 


We  may  not  liken  thee  to  earthly  things  ; 

To  aught  that  might  be  changed  or  perish, 
To  aught  that  we  could  cease  to  cherish, 

Bright  outbirth  of  our  best  imaginings  ! 
Thou  Sunbeam  of  the  spiritual  sphere, 
Caught  from  its  ether  and  embodied  here, 


ODE     TO     POWERS'     GREEK     SLAVE.      73 

Making  such  music  in  our  mental  frame 

As  from  the  Egyptian  statue  came, 

When  the  Sun  touched  it  with  his  lips  of  flame. 

In  the  world's  childhood,  near  its  radiant  birth, 
In  ages  mystical  and  golden, 
When  angel  faces  were  beholden, 
And  godlike  statues  fell  from  heaven  to  earth, 
Had  thy  dread  loveliness  been  found 
Haloing  with  light  some  spot  of  holy  ground, 
It  had  been  worshiped  as  some  Plastic  Power 
Which  weaves  the  rainbow  and  the  flower, 
Or  flames  in  purple  at  the  morning  hour. 

From  the  cold   rock   the  Hebrew  Prophet  brought 
The  living  waters  sweetly  glowing 
To  fainting  multitudes  out-flowing  ; 
Such  blessing  art  thou  in  the  realm  of  Thought ! 
No  hapless  futures  with  a  dearth 
Of  inspiration  e'er  shall  scourge  the  earth, 
While  thou  dost  stand,  a  Fountain  subtly  riven, 
Whereby  fresh  life  may  still  be  given, 
And  primal  sympathies  renewed  with  Heaven  ! 


MY    LYEE. 


THE  Lyre  I  touch  with  faltering  hand 
Was  never  tuned  in  princely  halls  ; 
It  was  not  framed  in  Music's  land 
For  fetes  and  carnivals  : 
A  mystic  birth 
On  freer  earth, 
Had  it  'mid  rocks  and  waterfalls. 

I  found  it  in  the  mountain  wood, 

Hung  high  upon  the  forest  tree  : 
The  Winds  that  loved  the  solitude, 
The  Waves  that  to  the  sea 
Bounded  along, 
In  light  and  song, 
Grave  to  these  strings  their  melody. 


M  Y      L  Y  B  E  .  75 

And  like  the  murmurs  of  the  Deep, 
Still  lingering  in  the  spiral  shell, 
Unbidden,  from  their  charmed  sleep, 
Mysterious  numbers  swell, 
In  grief  or  ire, 
Across  my  Lyre, 
Eolian  wail  or  tocsin  knell. 

When  brother-minstrels  shall  repair 
To  glean  my  ashes  from  the  pyre, 
Like  cloudlet  melting  into  air, 
My  loved  and  shadowy  Lyre, 
Of  fairy  birth, 
Shall  pass  from  earth, 
And  join  its  own  Primeval  Choir. 


THE     POET     AND     THE  BKOOK. 


POET. 

SPARKLING  child  of  nature  !    why 
Star-like  glance  so  swiftly  by  ? 
Every  bird  is  hushed,  unseen, 
In  his  curtained  tent  of  green  ; 
Every  bee  on  open  flower 
Sheathes  his  wing  this  sunny  hour  ; 
On  the  slope  lies  radiant  June, 
Sleeping  in  the  lap  of  Noon  ; 
And  the  meadow  now  to  thee 
Would  a  nursing  mother  be  ; 
Cease  thy  childlike  race,  and  rest 
Softly  on  the  meadow's  breast  ! 


THE      POET      AND      THE      BROOK.          77 


BROOK. 

Sweet  the  spot  and  bright  the  day  ! 
But  my  waves  must  glide  away 
To  adorn  some  other  scene, 
Brighten  other  banks  with  green, 
Glimmer  through  the  darkest  woods, 
Break  the  air  of  solitudes, 
Bearing  as  they  flow  along 
Joy  and  beauty,  life  and  song. 


POET. 

Rocky  chasm  across  thy  way 
Soon  may  weave  thy  shroud  of  spray, 
Winter's  breath  from  bleakest  hill 
Strike  thee  silent,  cold  and  still. 
Happier  lie  in  ease  and  bliss, 
Center  of  such  group  as  this  ; 
While  at  night  the  skyey  train 
From  thy  mirror  shine  again. 
On  such  restless  heart  as  thine 
Stars  of  heaven  can  never  shine  ! 


78          THE      POET      AND      THE      BROOK. 


BROOK. 

Suns  in  distant,  deep  array, 
Thou  dost  call  the  Milky  Way, 
All  their  glory  lost  to  thee, 
Glimmering  through  immensity  : 
So  in  every  gleam  I  make, 
As  o'er  chiming  stones  I  break, 
Sparkling  fragment  to  thine  eye, 
Suns  and  systems  pictured  lie  ; 
For  to  him  who  labors  most 
Least  of  earth  or  heaven  is  lost, 
And  his  form,  however  small, 
Daguerreotypes  the  Sacred  All. 

POET. 

Changeling  !    ever  dost  thou  roam, 
Without  country,  without  home  ; 
Nature  vainly  spreads  her  store, 
Thankless  thou  dost  yearn  for  more  ; 
Violets  shed  their  sweet  perfume 
O'er  their  cradle  and  their  tomb  ; 


THE   POET   AND   THE   BBOOK.   79 

And  the  birds  enamored  grow 
Of  some  green,  protecting  bough  : 
All  in  motion,  sound  and  spray, 
What  allures  thy  step  away  ? 


BIIOOK. 

Ah  !    I  hear  the  Ocean  waves 
Chanting  in  their  coral  caves, 
With  a  melody  that  thrills 
To  their  brethren  on  the  hills, 
Sweetly  luring  them  along 
To  commingle  in  their  song. 
Passing  from  the  summit  gained 
On  to  summits  unattained, 
Poet !  dost  thou  never  hear 
Voices  from  a  brighter  sphere, 
Gently  calling  thee  away 
To  the  Heavens'  eternal  day  ? 


NOCTURNE. 


MOONBEAMS,  moonbeams  everywhere  ! 
On  the  water,  in  the  air, 
On  the  earth  and  at  the  door, 
Round  the  walls  and  on  the  floor  ! 
Hence  !  ye  Spirits  of  the  Night ! 
With  your  pale,  sepulchral  light. 
Were  the  moon  not  glaring  high 
With  her  never-winking  eye, 
We  could  e'en  believe  ye  were 
Grhosts  of  sunbeams  lingering  here. 
Blind  am  I  with  blaze  of  day, 
To  more  willing  eyes,  away  ! 

Kiss  the  shadows  from  their  place 
On  the  sleeping  water's  face  ; 
When  the  subtle  shadows  fly 
Make  the  waters  seem  the  sky. 


NOCTURNE.  81 

Pry  into  the  sparrow's  nest 

At  the  brood  around  her  breast  ; 

O'er  the  misty  meadow  creep, 

Charm  the  little  flowers  to  sleep, 

Make  the  purple,  red  and  blue, 

Glisten  whitely  in  the  dew, 

Make  the  white  ones  still  more  white  ; 

On  the  rifted  oak  alight ; 

Tip  the  church's  spire  afar 

With  the  image  of  a  star  ; 

Glide  into  the  garden  bower, 

Glimmer  round  the  moldering  tower  ; 

Dip  into  the  deepest  shade 

Whence  the  owlet's  cry  is  made  ; 

Hang  a  shroud  on  aspen  tree 

Bustling,  swaying  fitfully, 

Or  to  sleeping  churchyards  hie 

And  on  spectral  marbles  lie. 


Endless  watch  have  I  to  keep, 
Her  sweet  eyes  are  hushed  in  sleep, 
Folding  like  an  Eastern  rose 
Her  sweet  soul  has  found  repose  ; 


82  NOCTURNE. 

Speak  no  more  her  silent  eyes, 
And  the  rose  still  folded  lies  ! 
On  a  love-wind  swift  I  fly, 
To  the  shadowy  grotto  hie : 
There  lost  Florence  I  can  see 
As  she  ever  seems  to  me. 
Glowing  and  serene  she  stands, 
Parted  lips  and  folded  hands, 
Flood  of  sunlight  on  her  hair 
And  her  features  marbled  there  ! 
Would  those  lips  one  word  reply 
E'en  its  echo  could  not  die  ! 
Could  one  smile  those  features  give 
E'en  its  shadow  sure  would  live ! 
But  she  stands  forever  so, 
In  her  weird,  auroral  glow, 
Half  of  violet,  half  of  snow  ; 
Like  some  statue,  brightest  one 
In  a  palace  of  the  Sun  ! 

What  is  Sleep  but  mental  night  ? 
Dreams  its  pale,  sepulchral  light, 
Ghostly  shadows  of  our  Thought 
Strangely  on  our  being  wrought ; 


NOCTURNE.  83 


Glimmering  o'er  our  deep  repose 
With  their  false,  ideal  shows, 
Some  in  beauty,  some  in  pain, 
All  to  be  dissolved  again, 
To  chaotic  forms  away 
At  the  touch  of  mental  day. 


MUSIC. 


GIVE  me  music  all  the  day  ! 

Bring  to  greet  th'  advancing  morn, 
Brisk  to  Pleasure's  roundelay, 

Trilling  pipe  or  jocund  horn  ; 
Whispering  wind  among  the  trees, 

Carol  of  contented  bird, 
Children  laughing  as  they  please, 

Bleat  of  flock  or  bell  of  herd. 

When  the  burnished  noon  appears, 

And  the  snowy  cloudlets  shine, 
In  the  wood  of  thousand  years, 

Let  me  by  the  brook  recline, 
Whilst  the  glad  waves,  on  their  march 

Tinkle  round  the  twisted  root, 
Whilst  I  fill  the  forest  arch 

With  the  sound  of  liquid  flute. 


MUSIC.  85 

When  the  torch  of  daylight  fades, 

And  the  twilight  air  is  still, 
Let  me  from  the  shadowy  glades 

Hear  the  lonely  whip-poor-will ; 
Whilst  sweet  Keverie  sits  remote 

Fixed  upon  her  favorite  star, 
And  young  Love's  persuasive  note 

Trembles  on  the  light  guitar. 

When  the  moon  has  climbed  the  hill, 

Ushering  silver  evening  in, 
Let  Devotion's  ready  skill 

Tune  the  solemn  violin ; 
Let  the  organ's  gradual  swell 

Heavenward  pour  its  mighty  note, 
And  the  toll  of  steepled  bell 

O'er  the  aerial  tissue  float. 

Thus  shall  Music  all  the  day 

Lap  me  in  its  sweet  control, 
And  the  winds  of  nature  play 

Through  th'  ^iEolian  harp  of  soul. 


THE    WILD    KE-UNION. 


IN  the  ages  which,  we  call  benighted, 

And  the  Teuton's  weird  and  wondrous  land, 
In  an  upmost  story,  dimly  lighted, 
At  a  long  and  narrow  wooden  stand, 
Darkly  stained  with  blood, 
The  Dissector  stood, 
Held  a  purpled  knife  within  his  hand. 

'Twas  late,  and  all  his  comrades  had  departed, 

Left  him  at  his  table  there  alone  ; 
On  the  dreamy  Student,  heavy-hearted, 
Midnight  stars  in  silent  wonder  shone  ; 
From  his  eyes  there  came 
Flashes  as  of  flame, 
Born  of  sorrows  to  the  world  unknown. 


THE      WILD       RE -UNION.  87 

To  the  churchyard  in  the  moonlit  meadow 

Earthly  hopes  and  earthly  joys  were  borne  ; 
Stolen  to  the  land  of  dream  and  shadow 
From  his  bleeding  heart  her  heart  was  torn  ; 
She  his  love  allowed, 
But  her  kinsmen  proud 
Had  repulsed  his  gentle  suit  with  scorn. 

Droop'd  the  Lady  with  her  crushed  devotion, 

Nourished  and  concealed  the  fatal  flame, 
When  her  heart  had  ceased  its  sacred  motion 
Sister  to  the  angels  she  became  ; 
He,  oppressed  with  grief, 
Sought  a  faint  relief, 
In  his  studies  of  the  human  frame. 

Quietly  the  youth  a  corpse  uncovered, 
Which  the  sunken  drapery  revealed, 
Awful  thoughts  around  him  seldom  hovered 
Near  the  dead  :  his  heart  had  sorrow  steeled  ; 
Starting  with  a  thrill, 
Stood  he  then  as  still 
As  a  brook  by  winter  winds  congealed. 


88  THE      WILD       RE-UNION. 

Lay  before  him  there  a  beauteous  Maiden 

(High-born  damsel),  stolen  from  the  tomb, 
Dead,  but  Death  had  not  her  features  laden 
With  his  characters  of  fearful  gloom  : 
On  her  roseate  face 
Lingered  every  trace 
Of  her  girlhood's  gentleness  and  bloom. 

To  her  breast  the  hair  hung  down  in  tresses, 

Curling  like  the  tendrils  of  the  vine  ; 
Bipc  her  lips  were  for  the  sweet  caresses, 
Flush  with  love  and  red  as  if  with  wine  ; 
Of  the  purest  gold, 
And  ethereal  mold, 
Finger-rings  threw  out  their  fairy  shine. 

Were  the  body  and  the  chamber  haunted  ? 

For  the  youth  could  not  remove  his  gaze  ; 
Like  a  marble  shaft  he  stood,  enchanted, 
And  his  eyes  had  frenzy  in  their  blaze  ; 
The  Dissector's  room 
Lost  to  him  its  gloom — 
Was  enveloped  in  a  golden  haze. 


THE      WILD      RE-UNION.  89 

Hung  with  damask  curtains  seemed  the  windows, 
O'er  the  mantel  ticked  the  household  chime, 
Purple  flames  flared  up  from  out  the  cinders, 
Like  a  bed  whereto  a  bride  might  climb 
Seemed  his  table,  high 
And  broad  unto  his  eye, 
Decked  with  sculpturings  of  the  olden  time. 

Lovingly  upon  the  snowy  linen 

Lay  the  form  of  Beauty  he  beheld  ; 
Mouth  and  eyes  were  sparkling,  soft  and  winning; 
In  her  breast  the  maiden  fervor  swelled  ; 
Manliest  virtues  melt, 
He,  enamored,  felt 
To  her  heart  his  throbbing  heart  impelled. 

"  Art  thou,  Lost  One  !  come  from  blissful  Eden 

To  assuage  my  bosom's  burning  pain  ? 
Nevermore,  0  rare  and  radiant  Maiden  ! 
Shall  the  furies  part  our  souls  again  ! 
Heaven  will  not  divide 
Bridegroom  from  his  bride  ; 
Angels  are  singing  now  our  marriage-strain  !'' 


90  THE      WILD      RE-UNION. 

On  her  neck  he  fell,  oppressed  and  panting  ; 
Blent  his  lips  in  madness  with  her  own  ; 
Hound  his  form  she  locked  her  arms  enchanting, 
Cold  her  arms  as  chiseled  out  of  stone  : 
Drooped  his  trembling  head, 
Sight  and  hearing  fled, 
And  his  soul  dissolved  in  joys  unknown. 

When  the  sun  threw  from  his  burning  quiver 

Eay-like  arrows,  beaming  far  and  wide, 
Stark  and  cold  lay  out  the  pallid  lover, 
Silent  at  the  lifeless  maiden's  side  ; 
Death  was  on  his  brow, 
Heaven  had  heard  his  vow, 
And  he  was  not  parted  from  his  bride. 


FAREWELL. 


IN  vain,  in  vain  have  I  essayed 
To  speak  the  word  "  good  bye  :" 

It  lingers  on  my  lips,  sweet  maid  ! 
And  changes  to  a  sigh. 

And  there's  no  need  of  Reason's  wiles 

To  break  the  pensive  spell, 
The  heart  that  tells  its  joy  in  smiles 

May  sigh  its  sad  farewell. 

We  met  when  rival  roses  round 

In  bridal  beauty  shone ; 
We  part  when  on  the  Autumn  ground 

The  golden  leaves  are  strown. 


92  FAREWELL. 

The  rose  was  like  Love's  early  power, 
So  bright,  so  pure,  so  brief; 

So  sad,  so  drear  our  parting  hour, 
'Tis  like  the  falling  leaf. 

When  on  my  lyre's  enchanted  string 

I  try  my  tuneful  art, 
Two  notes  from  out  the  chords  shall  spring 

And  vibrate  to  my  heart ! 

A  note  of  joy  that  e'er  we  met 

Shall  sweetly,  briefly  swell, 
And  leave  a  note  of  soft  regret 

That  e'er  we  bade  farewell. 


THE    ORANGE    FLOWER. 


WITH  sedulous  care,  in  a  Northern  bower, 
I  nurtured  a  beautiful  orange  flower, 
But  it  pined  for  scenes  more  sweet  and  fair, 
And  it  died  for  love  of  its  native  air, 
Like  a  Maid  only  lent  to  earth,  not  given, 
And  early  wafted  away  to  heaven. 


And  once  I  cherished  a  fruitless  love, 

For  so  it  was  written,  they  say,  above; 

A  love  as  gentle,  as  pure,  as  bright, 

As  wonderful  as  the  rays  of  light ; 

In  happier  hearts  it  might  bloom  and  blow, 

But  it  withered  and  died  in  my  heart  of  snow. 


LINES    TO    A    YOUNG    FKIEND. 


IN  every  material  thing  which  we  see 

Is  something  ethereal  not  to  be  seen  ; 
There  are  Nymphs   in   the  water  and   Sylphs   in 

the  tree, 

And  summer-night  Fairies  that  dance   on    the 
green. 

The  caskets  thus  sealed  open  not  to  our  call, 
Nor  give  to  our  yearnings  their  mysteries  up, 

Yet  spiritual  essences  live  in  them  all, 

Like  dew  in  the  flower,  like  wine  in  the  cup. 

The  rose  as  it  blossoms,  the  star  as  it  shines, 
The  magic  of  music,  the  graces  of  youth, 

Aurora  and  spring-times,  are  tokens  and  signs 
Of  the  presence  of  Angels  of  Beauty  and  Truth. 


LINES     TO     A     YOUNG     FRIEND.  95 

Whilst  in  the  affections  that  gladden  us  here 
And  lead  us  serenely  to  pleasures  above, 

In  charity's  sigh,  and  in  pity's  sweet  tear, 

Are  the  best  of  the  Angels,  the  Angels  of  Love. 

0  Thou  !  to  whose  Spirit  these  lines  are  addressed, 
Whom  Nature  has  dowered  with  all  that  she 

could, 

May  thine  outer  adornment  be  inwardly  blest, 
And  the   Beautiful  prove  but  a  shrine  for  the 
Good! 


THE    ROVING    HEART 


MY  Heart  was  a  rover 
And  lived  like  the  Bee, 

Until  it  was  Lover, 
Adored  one  !    to  thee. 

It  sipped  every  blossom 
The  gardens  all  o'er, 

But  ah  !  from  thy  bosom 
It  wanders  no  more. 

Elate  with  its  fleetness 
It  spread  the  gay  wing, 

And  gathered  the  sweetness 
From  every  bright  thing. 


THE      ROVING      HEART.  97 

But  vain  the  endeavor 

To  exhaust  thee  of  thine, 
So  thou  holdest  forever 

This  wild  heart  of  mine. 
5 


LOVE    ME    ALONE. 


THE  mildew  has  blighted  the  blossom, 

Misfortunes  have  come  like  the  tide, 
And  all  the  false  friends  of  my  bosom 

Have  fled  in  distrust  from  my  side  ; 
Sweet  girl  !   whom  I  love  so  sincerely, 

Come,  bend  your  bright  eyes  on  my  own, 
And  with  accents  I  treasure  so  dearly 

0  say  you  will  love  me  alone. 

I  vowed,  and  I  thought  they  believed  me, 
They  vowed,  and  I  swore  to  their  truth  ; 

How  many,  alas  !   have  deceived  me, 
And  broken  the  pledges  of  youth  ! 


LOVE      ME      ALONE  99 

But,  Love  !  your  caresses  can  make  me 
Forget  every  pang  I  have  known, 

And  I  care  not  what  others  forsake  me 
If  you  will  but  love  me  alone. 

Though  Hope  on  the  brink  of  perdition 

Stands  palsied  in  silent  affright, 
Though  the  star  of  my  early  ambition 

May  sink  in  the  shadows  of  night ; 
Life's  Sun  will  continue  to  shine,  Love  ! 

As  bright  as  it  ever  has  shone, 
For  you'll  bend  your  sweet  eyes  upon  mine,  Love  ! 

And  say  that  you  love  me  alone. 


LOVE'S  THE  ONLY  TREASURE. 


WITH  many  passions,  great  and  small, 

We  restless  souls  are  living, 
But  Love 's  the  sweetest  of  them  all 

In  getting  or  in  giving  : 
For  prior  both  in  time  and  worth 

This  sacred  flame  was  given  ; 
All  others  have  been  born  on  earth, 
But  Love  is  part  of  heaven. 

Love  me,  love  me,  more  and  more, 

Love  me  without  measure, 
Kiss  me,  kiss  me,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Love's  the  only  treasure  ! 

The  star  of  Fame  shines  bright  above, 

To  many  eyes  resplendent, 
But  in  our  skies  the  star  of  Love 

Supremely  is  ascendant  ; 


LOVE'S     THE     ONLY     TREASURE.      101 

For  Fame's  false  light  will  disappear 

When  you  approach  it  nearer, 
But  penetrate  to  Love's  sweet  sphere 
And  it  will  shine  the  dearer  ! 

Love  me,  love  me,  more  and  more, 

Love  me  without  measure, 
Kiss  me,  kiss  me,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Love's  the  only  treasure  ! 

Then  as  to  Gold,  much  worshiped  Gold  ! 

Let  sordid  spirits  prize  it  ! 
Since  Love  is  neither  bought  nor  sold 

We  freely  can  despise  it. 
For  what  is  Gold  to  Love  like  this  ? 

Correctly  to  appraise  it, 
A  single  smile,  a  single  kiss, 
Entirely  outweighs  it  ! 

Love  me,  love  me,  more  and  more, 

Love  me  without  measure, 
Kiss  me,  kiss  me,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Love's  the  only  treasure  ! 

What  envy,  folly  and  distrust, 
Surround  the  slaves  of  Fashion  ! 


102   LOVE'S  THE  ONLY  TKEASURE. 

We  would  regard  them  with  diegust 

If  't  were  not  for  compassion. 
Their  love  is  but  the  love  of  power, 

Of  place,  or  jeweled  splendor  ; 
But  true  Love  is  a  sacred  flower, 
As  modest  as  'tis  tender. 

Love  me,  love  me,  more  and  more, 

Love  me  without  measure, 
Kiss  me,  kiss  me,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Love's  the  only  treasure  ! 

Whene'er  you  join  in  Pleasure's  chase, 

Remember  that  to-morrow 
The  rainbow  smiles  upon  your  face 

May  melt  in  tears  of  sorrow  ; 
For  every  Pleasure  has  a  sting, 
And  you  are  sure  to  find  it, 
Except  sweet  Love,  the  only  thing 
That  leaves  no  pain  behind  it. 

Love  me,  love  me,  more  and  more, 

Love  me  without  measure, 
Kiss  me,  kiss  me,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Love's  the  only  treasure  ! 


OLD    AUNT    HANNAH. 


Let 's  wait  a  little  longer,  Tom  ! 

Before  we  westward  go  ; 
Let's  wait  for  old  Aunt  Hannah's  sake, 

'T  would  break  her  heart,  I  know. 
Look  at  her  in  her  corner  there, 

Her  head  is  white  as  snow, 
The  last  leaf  of  the  good  old  tree — 

We  can  not  leave  her  so  ! 

In  this  old  mansion  was  she  born, 
Her  joys  and  griefs  were  here  : 

How  well  she  loved  and  nursed  us  all 
Through  many  a  changing  year  ! 


104  OLD     AUNT     HANNAH. 

See  how  she's  smiling  at  the  fire 
And  whispering  something  low  ! 

She  's  thinking  of  our  Christmas  times, 
0,  long  and  long  ago  ! 


Beside  yon  crumbling  garden  wall, 

Our  gallant  father  lies, 
Our  good,  old  mother  at  his  side — 

Aunt  Hannah  closed  their  eyes  ! 
She  was  the  playmate  of  them  both, 

Some  fifty  years  ago — 
To  leave  those  dear  old  graves  behind 

'T  would  break  her  heart,  I  know. 


When  the  old  soldier  parceled  out 

His  treasures,  great  and  small, 
Aunt  Hannah  he  would  give  to  none, 

He  gave  her  to  us  all. 
We  laid  his  good  sword  on  his  breast, 

For  he  had  charged  us  so — 
Whilst  old  Aunt  Hannah  knelt  in  tears — 

Ah  !  Tom  !  we  can  not  go  ! 


OLD     AUNT     HANNAH.  105 

Her  failing  sands  will  soon  be  out, 

The  kindly  angel  come, 
And  lead  the  good,  old,  faithful  soul 

To  our  great  Master's  home. 
And  when  we've  marked  her  simple  grave, 

And  dropped  a  tear  or  so, 
We  '11  urn  the  ashes  of  the  past, 

And  westward  gaily  go  ! 


MY    VALENTINE. 


Now  all  the  Birds  in  every  grove 
Devote  their  little  lives  to  love, 
But  all  their  loves  are  naught  to  mine, 
Since  thou  wilt  be  my  Valentine  ! 

With  fairy  speed  the  rosy  Hours 
Will  bring  the  happy  month  of  flowers, 
On  pleasure's  bright,  electric  line, 
Since  thou  art  now  my  Valentine  ! 

The  summer  trees  in  glen  and  glade 
Will  cast  a  soft,  Elysian  shade, 
And  with  their  fruitful  arms  entwine 
Our  evening  bower,  my  Valentine  ! 


MY     VALENTINE.  107 

When  leaves  autumnal  fade  and  fall, 
And  pensive  fancies  come  to  all, 
I,  I  alone  will  not  repine, 
For  thou  wilt  be  my  Valentine  ! 

Let  Winter  winds  in  fury  blow, 
Wrap  all  the  world  in  shroud  of  snow, 
Yet  bright  my  mental  sun  shall  shine, 
For  thou  wilt  be  my  Valentine  ! 

When  changeful  Birds  in  other  groves 
Attune  their  vows  to  other  loves, 
Unchanging  I  will  cling  to  mine, 
For  thou  wilt  be  my  Valentine  ! 


KISSES. 


"0  Kiss  me  and  go," 

Said  the  maid  of  my  heart, 
And  proffered  her  lip 

As  a  hint  to  depart — 
"  The  midnight  approaches, 

My  Mother  will  know, 
My  kindest  and  dearest  ! 

0  kiss  me  and  go." 

She  gave  me  the  blessing 

In  such  a  sweet  way, 
The  thrill  of  its  pleasure 

Enticed  me  to  stay. 
So  we  kissed  till  the  morning, 

Came  in  with  its  glow, 
For  she  said  every  moment, 

"  0  kiss  me  and  go  \" 


'TWAS    LIKE    A    SILVER    BUGLE. 


HE  was  a  handsome  stranger 

When  first  I  heard  him  speak  ; 
But  Love — it  throbbed  into  my  heart, 

And  blushed  into  my  cheek. 
His  words  were  few  and  simple, 
Nor  were  they  meant  for  me  : 
But  oh  !    the  tone — it  was  the  soul 
Of  love  and  melody  ! 

'T  was  like  a  silver  bugle  ! 

The  sweetest  night  in  June, 
A  silver  bugle's  serenade, 

Beneath  the  silver  moon  ; 
When  lovers'  evenings  come  so  late, 
And  morning  comes — so  soon  ! 

When  he  confessed  his  passion, 
And  all  my  maiden  fears 


110 


Dissolved  at  once  in  perfect  love, 

Though  only  told  in  tears  ; 
His  words  were  blent  with  kisses 

And  few  as  they  could  be, 
But  oh  !    the  tone — it  was  the  soul 
Of  love  and  melody  ! 

'T  was  like  a  silver  bugle  ! 

The  sweetest  night  in  June, 
A  silver  bugle's  serenade 

Beneath  the  silver  moon  ; 
When  lovers'  evenings  come  so  late, 
And  morning  comes — so  soon  ! 

And  now  I  am  a  mother, 

With  many  cares  beside, 
I  feel  as  happy  and  as  young 

As  when  I  was  a  bride  ; 
For  when  he  takes  at  evening 

The  baby  on  his  knee, 
He  speaks  the  words  of  tenderness 

Which  first  he  spoke  to  me  ; 
0,  like  a  silver  bugle  ! 

The  sweetest  night  in  June, 


'TWAS     LIKE     A     SILVER     BUGLE.         11] 

A  silver  bugle's  serenade 

Beneath  the  silver  moon  ; 
When  lovers'  evenings  come  so  late, 

And  morning  comes — so  soon  ! 


LOVE    IS    OMNIPOTENT! 


SuMMEK-bright  Beauty  ! 

Proud  as  tliou  art, 
Love  is  omnipotent, 

Look  to  thy  heart  ! 

Lo  !    in  the  woodlands, 

Branches  above 
Bend  to  the  warblers, 

Thrilling  with  Love. 

And  in  the  gardens 
Love  is  at  play  ; 

Butterflies  twinkle 
Sportively  gay. 


LOVE      IS      OMNIPOTENT.  113 

Hoses  their  sweetness 

Give  to  the  bee  ; 
Lovers  are  kissing 

Under  the  tree. 

Call  not  the  breezes 

Spiritless  things, 
Sweet  is  the  music 

Borne  on  their  wings, 

Gathered  in  countries 

Fairer  than  ours, 
Given  in  whispers 

To  the  young  flowers. 

When  the  May-blossoms 

Sweeten  the  air  ; 
When  the  dew-diamonds 

Silver  the  hair  ; 

When  the  pure  starlight 

Beckons  above, 
And  the  light  lattice 

Opens  to  love  : 


LOVE      IS      OMNIPOTENT. 

Summer-bright  Beauty 
Proud  as  thou  art, 

Love  is  omnipotent. 
Look  to  thy  heart  ! 


GOOD-NIGHT. 


GOOD-NIGHT  !   the  clock  has  struck  eleven, 
Oh  !    that  to  Time  no  tongue  were  given, 
No  sign  to  part  my  soul  from  thee  ; 
Good-night  ! — but  wilt  thou  dream  of  me  ? 

Good-night  !    the  midnight  hour  has  come, 
And  the  last  loiterer  hastens  home  ! 
Go,  take  the  rest  I  can  not  find, 
Good-night  ! — but  think'st  thou  Love  is  blind  ? 

Good-night  !    the  solemn  stroke  of  one 
Booms  like  a  mournful  minute  gun  ; 
No  tread  disturbs  the  sleeping  street, 
Good-night — but  stay,  when  shall  we  meet  ? 


116  GOOD-NIGHT. 

Good-night  !    the  bell  is  numbering  two, 
And  hark  !    the  cock  too  early  crew  ; 
Good  night  !   but  would  it  give  thee  pain 
If  morning  never  came  again  ? 

Good-night  !    alas  !    my  Love  !    'tis  three, 
The  envious  dawn  we  soon  shall  see  ; 
But  night  is  coming  to  my  heart, 
Good-night  ! — but  kiss  me  ere  we  part. 


BEAUTIFUL  !    DIVINELY    GLOWING  ! 


BEAUTIFUL  !  divinely  glowing, 

Heart  !  my  Heart  is  thy  true  name 

For  from  thee  a  life-blood  flowing 
Quickens  and  supports  my  frame. 

When  in  pleasure  or  devotion 
Thy  warm  pulses  faster  move, 

I,  obedient  to  their  motion, 

Throb  with  joy  or  blush  with  love. 

When  in  grief  or  contemplation 
Thy  sweet  currents  pause  or  fail, 

Straight  in  mute  ex-animation 
Sink  I  drooping,  cold  and  pale. 


118    BEAUTIFUL!   DIVINELY  GLOWING  1 

Ah  !  if  Time  or  Fate  should  sever 
Us  who  are  no  longer  twain, 

Heart,  my  Heart  !   no  more  forever 
Could  I  love  or  live  again. 


ORLEANS  A. 


THERE  never  was  such  beauty, 

Such  radiant  grace  as  thine, 
There  never,  never  was  such  love 

Nor  such  despair  as  mine. 
The  words  to  breathe  my  passion 

Have  not  been  coined  by  man  ; 
I  do  not  tell  thee  what  I  would, 

But  only  what  I  can. 

If  tears  could  e'er  have  won  thee, 

They  had  not  ceased  to  flow  ; — 
If  blood — it  had  been  freely  spilt, 

0  long  and  long  ago  ! 
I  laid  upon  thine  altar 

A  gift  beyond  all  price, 
A  true  heart's  worship — tears  and  blood 

Are  no  such  sacrifice. 


120  OELEANNA. 

Of  all  life's  blooming  promise 

Of  hope  and  peace  bereft, 
The  only  solace  of  my  soul, 

My  dreams  (sweet  dreams  !)  are  left. 
In  dreams  I  plead  my  longings, 

And  thou  dost  not  reprove  ; 
In  dreams  I  press  thee  to  my  heart 

And  thou  dost  seem  to  love. 


0  would  I  were  an  old  man 

With  few  more  days  to  see, 
And  thou — my  little  darling  child, 

To  prattle  on  my  knee. 
My  lot  had  then  been  happier 

Than  this  which  now  is  cast, 
And  with  thy  radiance  round  my  feet 

I  had  been  blest  at  last. 


0  never  from  this  parting 

We  meet  on  earth  again, 
For  I  should  give  thee  nought  but  love, 

Keceiving  nought  but  pain. 


OKLEANNA.  121 

Nor  let  us  meet  in  heaven 

Through  ages  yet  to  be  ! 
Shouldst  thou  be  still  as  beautiful, 

And  still  as  cold  to  me. 

Nay — nay — I  could  not  love  thee 

So  well  unless  thou  wert 
The  mate  to  my  unmated  soul, 

The  twin  heart  of  my  heart. 
Some  hateful  spell  is  on  thee 

That  here  thou  knowest  me  not ; 
But  we  shall  meet  and  love  in  heaven 

When  this  is  all  forgot ! 


UNCLE    JERKY. 


WHY,  Jerry!  what  means  all  this  sadness  and  fear? 

Here's  your  bitters,  man  !    why  do  you  cry  ? 
Who  told  you  I  'd  sell  you  ?  the  trader  that 's  here  ? 

By  zounds,  sir  !   he  told  you  a  lie  ! 
When  I  sell  the  gold  ring  from  my  dead  mother's 
hand, 

Or  the  sword  which  my  grandfather  bore, 
When  at  Guilford  his  troopers  made  such  a  bold 
stand, 

I  will  sell  you — and  not  before  ! 

Why,  do  n't  you  remember  my  face  as  a  boy's, 

When  often  I  sat  on  your  knee, 
Whilst  you  sang  in  your  rugged,  monotonous  voice, 

Your  foolish  old  ballads  to  me  ? 


UNCLE      JERRY.  123 

I  wept  at  your  sad  ones  and  laughed  at  your  gay, 
And  made  you  repeat  them  all  o'er  ; 

Ah  !    when  I  forget  my  life's  happiest  day, 
I  will  sell  you — and  not  before  ! 

You  made  me  the  boat  which  I  launched  on  the 
tide, 

And  my  traps  for  the  birds  in  the  snow  ; 
You  led  my  bay  pony,  and  taught  me  to  ride, 

And  half  the  good  things  which  I  know. 
You  wept  like  a  child  when  they  sent  me  to  school, 

To  be  absent  for  six  months  or  more  ; 
Whe»  you  are  a  villain,  or  I  am  a  fool, 

I  will  sell  you — and  not  before  ! 

If  poverty's  cup  I  am  sentenced  to  drain, 

I  will  part  with  you — last  of  them  all ; 
Your  kindness,  Old  Jerry  !  would  double  my  pain, 

And  your  sorrows  embitter  my  fall. 
If  fate  or  misfortune  should  cause  us  to  part, 

There's  a  Grod  will  unite  us  once  more  ; 
So  drink  my  good  health  and  console  your  old  heart, 

And  love  me  and  serve,  as  before. 


ISABELLE. 


SLEEP,  with  rosy  arm  around  thee, 
Now  hath  bound  thee, 

Sleep  thee  well  ! 
Thy  dreams  I  will  not  waken, 
Thou  forlorn,  forgot,  forsaken 
Isabelle  ! 

0  !    my  heart  is  heavy  laden, 
Blighted  maiden, 

Isabelle  ! 

For,  though  dead  to  love  and  duty, 
Thy  story  and  thy  beauty 

Have  a  spell. 


ISABELLE.  125 

All  the  flowers  for  thee  have  faded, 
0  degraded 

Isabelle  ! 

But  th'  eternal  thorn  is  smarting, 
And  the  pain  it  is  imparting 

Who  can  tell  ? 

Ah  !    thy  father  under  roses 
Now  reposes 

Deep  and  well  ; 
The  grave  dug  by  thine  errors, 
Was  it  watered  with  thy  sorrows, 

Isabelle  ? 

See  !    thy  little  sister,  playing, 
Laughing,  straying, 

A  gazelle 

In  the  sunshine  of  the  meadow, 
Unvisited  by  thy  shadow, 
Isabelle  ! 

But  a  dark  eye  is  thy  brother's — 
And  thy  mother's, 
Mark  it  well  ! 


126  ISABELLE. 

It  is  blind  with  watches  keeping, 
It  is  blind  with  weeping,  weeping, 
Isabelle  ! 

It  is  too  late  to  warn  thee, 
And  to  scorn  thee,     » 

Isabelle  ! 

Is  not  for  him  who  knew  thee, 
Ere  that  which  makes  him  rue  thee 

Yet  befell. 

0  sweet  slumber  !    touch  her  lightly, 
Dreaming  brightly, 

"  All  is  well  ;" 

Though  the  dark  ones  round  her  hover, 
And  no  angels  can  recover 

Isabelle. 

0  sweet  slumber  !    leave  her  never, 
But  for  ever 

Fix  thy  spell ; 

Lie  henceforth  in  sleep  enchanted, 
By  consoling  angels  haunted, 
Isabelle  ! 


ISABELLE.  127 


Never  feel  again  the  aching, 
And  heart-breaking 

Of  this  hell ; 

Nor  to  retribution  waken, 
Thou  forlorn,  forgot,  forsaken, 

Isabelle  ! 


THE    POET'S    DIADEM. 


0  !  WEAVE  the  Poet's  diadem 
Of  all  the  flowers  with  those, 

His  heart  is  strangely  linked  to  them — 
The  Cypress  and  the  Eose. 

So  when  some  saddening  hand  of  woe 

Shall  touch  his  spirit-string, 
The  Cypress-leaf  may  darkly  glow 

And  shade  the  child  of  Spring. 

And  soon  as  smiling  pleasure  pours 

Her  balm  upon  his  grief, 
The  Rose  may  spread  her  breathing  flowers 

And  hide  the  Cypress-leaf. 


THE    DREAM    OF    THE    ROSE 


THE  moonbeams  in  a  garden  bower 
Lie  bright  on  every  sleeping  flower, 
While  Fancy's  airy  trains  disclose 
A  vision  to  the  fragrant  Rose. 

A  radiant  Maiden  wanders  by 

The  Charming  One  to  many  an  eye  ; 

The  Rose's  wish  is  unexprest, 

But  still  she  takes  it  to  her  breast. 

It  feeds  on  Beauty's  golden  smile 
Entranced  in  love,  and  thinks  the  while, 
That  nestled  to  her  glowing  heart, 

No  tint  can  fade,  no  bloom  depart. 
6* 


130  THE     DREAM     OF      THE     ROSE. 

But  see  !  the  breeze  too  roughly  blows, 
Shakes  the  frail  leaves  and  wakes  the  Kose  ; 
Yet  not  alone,  sweet  Flower  !  repine, 
My  own  false  dreams  resemble  thine  ! 


THOSE    HAZEL    EYES. 


THOSE  hazel  eyes,  those  hazel  eyes  ! 
In  vain  my  restless  spirit  tries 

To  banish  from  my  sight ; 
They  gild  my  reveries  with  their  beams, 
They  dance  and  sparkle  in  my  dreams, 

They  haunt  me  day  and  night. 

Less  radiant  is  the  glance  of  morn 
When  night's  dim  veil  is  first  withdrawn, 

No  softer  is  the  dove  ; 
To  witching  smiles  those  eyes  give  birth, 
And  some  are  full  of  gentle  mirth, 

And  some  of  gentler  love. 


132  THOSE     HAZEL      EYES. 

Sage  Prudence  spied  the  tempting  snare 
And  whispered  to  my  heart,  "  beware  !"- 

But  I  delayed  my  flight, 
Until  the  rays  like  links  combined, 
And  round  my  fettered  heart  entwined 

A  chain  of  rosy  light. 

Should  I  obey  ambition's  call, 

And  burst  this  strange,  delicious  thrall, 

The  world  would  call  it  wise  ; 
But  Love  has  dearer  joys  for  me, 
And  more  than  all  the  world  I  see 

In  those  sweet  hazel  eyes  ! 


THE    POET'S    SONGS 


THE  Poet  sang  one  summer  morn, 

A  winding  streamlet  by, 
A  lay  of  love  and  fancy  born, 
And  as  the  waters  sparkled  on, 
They  made  a  sweet  reply, 
They  made  a  sweet  reply. 

The  Poet  sang  at  mid-day  tide, 
Beneath  the  branches  high, 
And  little  birds  on  every  side 
To  emulate  his  music  vied, 
And  made  a  sweet  reply, 
And  made  a  sweet  reply. 


134  THE    POET'S    SONGS. 

The  Poet  sang  at  twilight  hour 

Beneath  the  rosy  sky  ; 
The  evening  breeze  o'er  field  and  flower 
Crept  like  an  unseen  fairy  power, 
And  made  a  sweet  reply, 
And  made  a  sweet  reply. 

The  Poet  sang  with  warmer  tone 
Beneath  young  Laura's  eye  ; 
And  when  he  clasped  her  radiant  zone, 
And  wooed  the  girl  to  be  his  own, 
She  made  a  sweet  reply, 
She  made  a  sweet  reply. 


THE     STBEAMLET'S    WAKNING. 


0  !    HASTEN,  pretty  Streamlet ! 

0  !   hasten  to  the  Sea, 
Nor  dally  in  this  meadow, 

Elysian  though  it  be. 

The  summer  months  are  coming, 
The  sun  will  rise  in  wrath, 

And  pour  his  burning  arrows 
Upon  thy  winding  path. 

The  sands  will  yawn  to  take  thee, 
Thy  rocks  will  all  be  dry  ; 

Thy  waves  no  more  will  whisper 
To  the  flowerets  blooming  by. 

Delay  not  in  this  meadow, 
Elysian  though  it  be  ; 


136      THE    STEEAMLET'S    WAKNING. 

But  hasten,  pretty  Streamlet ! 
0  hasten  to  the  Sea  ! 

I  can  not  leave  this  meadow, 
Nor  hasten  to  the  Sea  ; 

I  can  not  leave  this  meadow 
With  its  April  witchery. 

For  the  sun  is  bright  and  gentle, 
His  kiss  is  sweet  and  warm, 

And  he  mirrors  in  my  bosom, 
The  glory  of  his  form. 

Upon  my  banks  so  mossy 
The  Koses  have  their  seat — 

The  Koses  and  the  Lillies — 
And  I  sparkle  at  their  feet. 

I  sing  to  them  so  softly 

They  bend  and  smile  to  me  ; 

0,  I  can  not  leave  this  meadow 
And  hasten  to  the  Sea  ; 

I  can  never  leave  this  meadow 
With  its  April  witchery. 


WHEN    LOVELY    MAKY." 


WHEN  lovely  Mary  gave  her  word 
To  meet  me  by  the  walnut  tree, 

Unless  the  rain  at  midnight  poured, 
Unless  "  Mamma"  awake  should  be  : 

My  heart  with  pleasure  melted  o'er, 
And  every  pleasing  sense  was  moved, 

I  felt  I  never  knew  before 

How  much  I  loved  and  was  beloved. 

When  lovely  Mary  kept  her  word 
And  met  me  by  the  walnut  tree, 

The  clouds  were  gone,  the  moonlight  poured 
Its  favoring  smile  on  her  and  me  : 


138          "WHEN    LOVELY    MARY." 

And  when  I  kissed  her  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  every  bar  from  bliss  removed, 

I  knew  I  never  felt  before 

How  much  I  loved  and  was  beloved. 


I  D  0  L  1  N  E. 


THE  only  Angel  e'er  allowed 
To  break  the  ever-during  cloud 
Which  separates  our  earth  from  heaven, 
(Alas  !  that  e'er  such  boon  was  given  !) 
Came  as  a  Maiden,  pure  and  bright, 
A  figure  of  embodied  light, 
With  beauty  matchless  and  serene, 
Whom  loving  men  called  Idoline. 

She  seemed  the  life-blood  of  my  heart, 
And  of  my  soul  the  central  part, 
For  from  her  sphere  the  current  flowed 
To  which  my  very  life  I  owed  : 


140  I  D  0  L  I  N  E  . 

Did  her  glad  pulses  faster  move, 

I  warmed  with  joy  or  blushed  with  love  ; 

Did  her  sweet  motions  pause  or  fail, 

Then  sank  I,  drooping,  cold  and  pale  ; 

She  was  the  all-bestowing  Sun, 

And  I  a  form  she  shined  upon. 

But  ah  !  what  change  has  Fate  decreed  ! 
Just  as  I  thought  Hope's  glorious  seed 
To  flower  and  fruit  would  soon  expand, 
Death's  Angel  touched  her  with  his  wand. 
To  fields  and  palaces  of  light 
Her  Spirit  took  returning  flight  ; 
The  empty  tenement  of  mind 
For  human  tears  was  left  behind, 
More  beautiful  in  deathly  grace 
Than  all  the  animated  race. 
Where  men  her  radiant  form  entombed 
A  golden  willow  sprang  and  bloomed, 
In  which  a  soft  ^JEolian  tone 
Forever  made  melodious  moan  ; 
And  orient  birds,  ne'er  seen  before, 
Came  from  some  undiscovered  shore, 
And  sang  what  men  shall  hear  no  more. 


I  D  O  L  I  N  E  .  ]  41 

From  angel  tear-drops  on  the  ground 
A  thousand  flowers  grew  up  around, 
A  thousand  flowers  to  us  unknown, 
With  shapes  and  colors  of  their  own, 
As  if  a  rainbow  fell  from  heaven, 
Into  a  thousand  fragments  riven. 
Perhaps  their  germs  were  wafted  far 
On  ether's  wave  from  evening  star  ; 
Perhaps  there  came,  instead  of  worm, 
A  vital  essence  from  her  form, 
Which  wakened  the  compliant  sod 
To  life  and  beauty  born  of  God. 


For  days,  for  weeks,  alone  and  mute, 
With  sense  mysteriously  acute, 
I  heard  the  sounds  of  other  spheres, 
Too  far  remote  for  human  ears, 
And  saw  by  strange,  magnetic  light 
Things  unrevealed  to  human  sight ! 
But  all  the  myriad  forms  that  fill 
The  theater  of  nature's  skill, 
In  their  interior  splendor  seen 
Bore  trace  of  the  Seraph  Idoline. 


142  I  D  O  L  I  X  E  . 

Time  touched  with  his  oblivious  breath 
The  memory  of  her  life  and  death, 
And  half  my  sorrows  did  allay 
By  taking  half  my  joys  away  ; 
But  I  would  gladly  feel  the  pain 
To  have  the  joy  recalled  again. 

Sometimes  I've  fancied  that  there  came 
Her  accents  calling  on  my  name 
From  golden  valleys  glimmering  far 
Beneath  sweet  twilight's  pendent  star ; 
Sometimes  I  *ve  felt,  at  morning  hour, 
Such  wondrous,  renovated  power, 
So  calm  and  strong,  so  free  and  bright, 
So  girdled  with  prophetic  light, 
That  I  could  vow  my  soul  had  been 
In  dreams  with  the  Seraph  Idoline. 


FIDELE. 


FIDELE  !    erring  one  !    what  claim 

0  Faithless  !   hast  thou  to  that  name  ? 

Fidele  !   faithful  only  to  thy  shame  ! 

Poor  alien  from  thy  home  and  kin  ! 

With  that  alluring  smile  of  sin, 

Which  mocks,  but  can  not  hide  the  hell  within 

Thou  wanderest  down  the  world  forlorn, 

Its  guilty  plaything  and  its  scorn, 

Thy  soul  a  flower  impaled  upon  a  thorn. 

When  Eden  lost  thou  dost  recall, 

Are  cherub  faces  on  its  wall, 

Or  flaming  swords  that  banish  and  appal  ? 


144  F  I  D  E  L  E  . 

Fidele,  see  !    through  years  of  woe, 

That  little  group — how  bright  they  glow  ! 

The  old  sweet  home,  the  shaded  portico, 

Thy  smiling  mother,  soft  and  fair, 

Thy  fairy  self  with  golden  hair, 

And  that  pale  boy,  love-lost  and  statued  there ! 

I  wonder  what  thy  thoughts  may  be  ! 

Thy  mother's  thoughts  are  prayers  for  thee  ; 

And  mine  are  tears  !     What  else  is  left  to  me  ? 


DESERTED. 


NOVEMBER'S  breath  has  chilled  the  morn, 
And  Winter's  gathering  scowl  I  see  ; 

The  birds  have  fled  the  leafless  thorn, 
As  my  young  joys  have  fled  from  me. 

The  flowers  of  Spring  revive  again, 
When  Winter's  dreary  night  is  o'er  ; 

But  ah  !   ye  cheer  my  heart  in  vain  ! 
The  flowers  of  hope  will  bloom  no  more. 

0  mother  !    mother  !   fare  thee  well  ! 

Forgive  my  perjured  love  for  this  ; 
Lay  on  my  heart  an  immortelle, 

And  seal  mine  eyelids  with  a  kiss  ! 


THE     DESECRATED     CHAPEL, 


A    SWEDISH    LEGEND. 


A  CHAPEL  by  the  Baltic  shore 
Stood  on  a  knoll  of  green, 

Far  out  at  sea,  a  league  or  more, 
Its  gilded  spire  was  seen. 

But  wicked  Barons  of  the  land 
Drove  forth  the  saintly  priest, 

Arid  met  upon  that  quiet  strand 
To  keep  unbridled  feast. 

They  tore  the  pictures  from  the  wall, 
They  broke  the  sacred  spire, 

The  altar  and  the  benches  all 
To  feed  th'  unholy  fire. 


THE      DESECKATED      CHAPEL.          147 

They  rode  the  ring,  the  spear  they  sped, 
They  broke  the  glittering  lance, 

They  quaffed  the  wine  and  gaily  led 
Their  ladies  to  the  dance. 

But  Avhile  they  stunned  the  waning  night 

With  sound  of  boisterous  glee, 
A  storm  arose,  with  hoarded  might, 

And  burst  upon  the  sea. 

The  sea  forsook  its  ancient  path, 

And  rolled  upon  the  shore, 
It  lashed  the  sloping  hills  in  wrath, 

And  inland  sent  its  roar. 

And  when  the  waves  sank  to  their  place, 

Of  chapel  on. the  green, 
Of  lords  or  ladies,  not  a  trace 

Was  longer  to  be  seen. 

But  still  they  say  sometimes  a  light 

G-leams  upward  from  the  sea  ; 
The  Baltic  sailor  hears  at  night, 

Mysterious  melody. 


148          THE       DESECRATED      CHAPEL. 

He  gazes  down  the  placid  deep 

Enchanted  at  his  oar, 
But  lo  !    the  sky's  bespangled  steep 

Is  mirrored  there  no  more. 

The  knoll  is  seen,  the  torches  glance, 

The  chapel  reappears  ; 
Fair  ladies  tricked  for  merry  dance, 

And  knights  with  golden  spurs. 

They  kneel  upon  the  emerald  sward, 
And  heavenward  fix  their  eyes, 

Whilst  "  misereres"  to  the  Lord 
In  solemn  chant  arise. 

So  weirdly  from  the  buried  shore 
Gleams  up  the  fearful  light, 

The  Baltic  sailor  bends  his  oar, 
And  flies  the  phantom  sight. 


LOVE    IN    SEAKCH    OF    TRUTH 


AN    ALLEGORY. 


WHEN  Love  was  sovereign  Queen  alone, 
And  had  no  partner  to  her  throne, 
She  sought  one  day  a  great  magician 
Renowned  for  power  and  erudition, 
Bearing  a  portrait  in  her  hand, 
And  softly  gave  her  high  command  : 
"  This  is  my  Bridegroom,  only  he — 
The  child  was  lost  in  infancy, 
Of  birth  divine,  his  name  is  Truth, 
And  I  have  come  to  seek  the  youth. 
Adjust  your  mirrors,  let  me  see 
If  one  who  bears  the  name  is  he." 


150   LOVE  IN  SEARCH  OF  TRUTH. 

The  crystal  flashes,  and  behold  ! 

A  stately  figure,  stern  and  old, 

A  man  majestic,  solemn,  slow, 

With  lips  compressed  and  eyes  a-glow  ; 

One  hand  upon  a  globe  at  play, 

While  books  and  papers  round  him  lay  : 

'T  was  History's  great  self  she  saw, 

And  Love  regarded  him  with  awe  ; 

But  still  her  quick,  discerning  eye, 

No  semblance  to  the  boy  could  spy  ; 

She  shook  her  head  ;   his  claim  was  banished, 

And  straight  the  great  impostor  vanished. 

A  second  glance  revealed  to  view 
A  face  which  more  attractive  grew  ; 
A  high-browed,  melancholy  man, 
Across  whose  features,  lean  and  wan, 
Great  thoughts  like  coruscations  ran. 
It  was  Philosophy,  from  toil  and  din 
Abstracted  to  his  world  within. 
Love  gazed,  and  readily  detected 
Some  features  of  the  Child  reflected, 
But  much  too  faintly  to  proclaim 
That  Truth  and  he  could  be  the  saino. 


LOVE  IN  SEARCH  OF  TRUTH.   151 

Next  sage  Theology  appeared, 

From  high  devotions  thus  unsphered. 

His  face  serene,  his  eye  upturned, 

A  halo  round  his  forehead  burned, 

One  hand  upon  his  heart  was  laid, 

The  other  pointed  o'er  his  head. 

Love  looked  with  joy — "  It  is  his  brother  ! 

One  outline  is  so  like  the  other  ; 

But  still,  if  narrowly  you  scan, 

This  child  could  never  make  such  man ; 

Here  is  too  much  of  heavenly  birth 

To  be  so  shadowed,  e'en  on  earth  !" 

Again  her  notice  is  invited, 

A  glorious  Youth  she  sees,  delighted, 

With  pencil  in  his  glowing  hand, 

Whilst  radiant  statues  round  him  stand, 

And  music  swells  in  soft  vibrations  : 

3T  is  Art  amid  his  own  creations. 

Love  hastened  gladly  to  compare 

Pictures  so  beautiful  and  rare, 

For  twins  they  were  at  least  by  nature, 

Identical  save  in  one  feature  ; 


152      LOVE     IN      SEARCH      OF     TRUTH. 

Art's  eye  was  blacker  than  the  raven, 
While  Truth's  was  brightly  blue  as  heaven. 
The  scenery  passed  dissolving  by, 
And  Love  dismissed  it  with  a  sigh. 

"  No  more,  Magician  ?      What — no  more  ? 
Hast  thou  exhausted  here  thy  lore  ?" 
"  None  claiming  to  be  Truth  remains 
But  a  poor  Youth,  not  worth  your  pains ; 
An  idle,  vain,  fantastic  creature, 
The  freak  and  bunglework  of  Nature : 
A  harmless  man  of  solitude, 
Eambling  in  Spring-time  through  the  wood, 
In  needless  tears  or  silly  gladness, 
Khyming  and  singing  in  his  madness — " 
"  Show  me  his  image,"  Love  replied — 
"  If  he  be  Truth— I  am  his  Bride." 

Once  more  the  magic  mirror  turned, 
'T  was  Poesy  that  Love  discerned  ; 
Seated  serenely  in  a  nook, 
Studying  a  flower  as  't  were  a  book  ; 
A  spirit  child-like  and  demure, 
Bright  as  the  diamond  and  as  pure. 


LOVE     IN     SEARCH     OF     TRUTH.        153 

Love  eyed  the  pictures — that  and  this, 

And  gave  both  this  and  that  a  kiss: 

"  Here  is  the  bud  and  there  the  blossom, 

The  lord  both  of  my  throne  and  bosom  ! 

Magician,  haste !  the  tidings  spread, 

For  Truth  is  found  and  Love  will  wed  !" 


ONE    OF    MAKION'S    MEN. 


GOOD  people  of  the  Poor-house  ! 

Gome  round  me  at  my  call  ; 
By  night  or  day,  at  work  or  play, 

I  've  lived  in  peace  with  all ; 
And  now  death  lies  upon  mine  eyes, — 

The  owl  hoots  in  the  glen — 
I  '11  tell  unbidden  what  long  I  've  hidden. 

I  was  one  of  Marion's  men  ! 

Yes  !    yes  !    the  poor  old  pauper 
Once  wore  with  youthful  pride, 

An  epaulet  (I  keep  it  yet !) 
And  a  saber  at  his  side. 


ONE    or    MARION'S    MEN. 

I  've  rode  all  night,  in  chase  or  flight, 
I  've  rode  all  day — and  then 

In  saddle  away  !  till  another  day, 
The  best  of  Marion's  men  ! 


A\vay,  in  scour  and  scurry  ! 

O'er  hills  and  swamps  away  ! 
For  liquor  and  ladies,  "  the  ever-readies," 

And  readier  for  the  fray  ! 
0  !    you  have  heard  how  we  did  beard 

The  lion  in  his  den  ! 
Or  glide  from  sight  like  ghosts  of  night — 

Hurrah  for  Marion's  men  ! 


Ah  !  many  a  gallant  comrade 

Was  laid  where  he  did  fall, 
And  some,  in  woods  and  solitudes, 

Were  never  buried  at  all — 
But  better  far  the  fate  of  war, 

A  glorious  death  !  and  then — 
No  bread  to  crave,  no  pauper's  grave 

For  one  of  Marion's  men ! 


156  ONE    OF    MARION'S    MEN. 

I  here  confess  my  follies, 

I  drank  and  played  too  fast ! 
'T  was  frolic  living  and  reckless  giving 

That  brought  me  here  at  last. 
But  if  this  hour  I  had  the  power 

I  'd  make  a  feast — and  then 
You  'd  drink  aright,  a  long  good-night 

To  one  of  Marion's  men  ! 


I  went  to  prayers  and  preachings 

But  few  times  in  my  life  : 
Ho  !  ho  !  the  jokes  on  your  Christian  folks, 

Who  live  in  trouble  and  strife  ! 
God  has  control  of  my  poor  soul, 

He  gave  it  and  takes  again — 
Saint  Peter's  gate  will  open  straight 

To  one  of  Marion's  men  ! 


To  all  whom  I  have  injured 
Would  I  could  make  amends  ! 

The  world  with  me  did  ne'er  agree, 
But  we  will  part  good  friends  ! 


ONE    OF    MAKION'S    MEN.  157 

Let  some  one  make,  for  pity's  sake  1 

A  head-board  ;  chalk  it  then 
In  my  behalf,  with  this  epitaph, 

"He  was  one  of  Marion's  men  1" 


CIRCE    FOR    CALYPSO. 


HE  plied  his  shining  oars 

Athwart  the  placid  sea, 
And  scanned  the  swiftly  passing  shores 

To  Y/indward  and  to  lee  : 
For  pleasure's  magic  realm  he  sought, 

Calypso's  happy  isle  ; 
In  sweet  Calypso's  arms  he  thought 

To  live  and  love  awhile. 

His  bark  flew  o'er  the  sea, 

His  soul  flew  o'er  the  air  ; 
For  whilst  his  oars  dipped  fast  and  free 

He  dreamed  that  he  was  there. 


CIRCE     FOR     CALYPSO.  159 

0  brightly  rose  the  purple  hills, 

0  sweetly  shone  the  vale, 
0  gaily  chimed  the  rippling  rills, 

0  softly  sighed  the  gale. 


Serenely,  faintly  blew 

The  silver  bugle  horn  1 
His  soul  the  signal  music  knew 

And  pressed  in  madness  on. 
Calypso's  palace  gleamed  afar, 

Like  sunset  o'er  the  sea  : 
Long  time  he  gazed  entranced — but  ah 

Alas  !  0  where  was  he  ? 


The  vision  disappeared 

Like  melting  dream  away  ; 
In  darkening  waters  deep  ensphered 

An  isle  before  him  lay  ; 
A  vast  and  melancholy  reach 

Of  wild  unbroken  woods  ; 
Uncheered  by  sound  of  human  speech 

Its  shadowy  solitudes. 


160  CIRCE     FOR     CALYPSO. 

Fast  fell  the  fearful  night 

Upon  his  quaking  heart ; 
He  saw  the  weird,  phosphoric  light 

Where  Circe  dwelt  apart  ; 
Whilst  growled  and  roared  from  cave  and  den 

The  bears,  the  dogs,  the  swine, 
The  snakes,  the  wolves — which  once  were  men, 

And  drank  of  Circe's  wine. 


RELIGIOUS    INSPIRATION    FROM    NATURE. 


WANDERING  at  ease  one  quiet  Sabbath  morn, 
I  cared  not  whither,  in  the  forest  shades, 
List'ning  the  spirit-song  which  Nature  sings, 
I  met  a  Maiden,  rambling  like  myself, 
Full  of  sweet  morning  fancies  and  hope-dreams. 
When  our  glad  eyes  each  caught  the  other's  light, 
Some  pleasing  instinct  taught  us  that  we  were 
Each  for  the  other  formed.     I  asked  her  not 
Whether  she  were  a  Dryad  of  the  wood, 
New  extricated  from  her  leafy  thrall, 
Or  a  bright  Naiad  from  some  shining  brook 
Which  fondly  chid  her  for  his  lonely  hours, 
And  wept  her  long  delay.      We  found  a  seat 


162       INSPIEATION     FKOM     NATURE. 

Fragrant  and  soft  upon  the  cool  green  grass 
That  velveted  the  bosom  of  the  wood. 
Young  birds  with  azure  wings  lit  on  the  trees, 
Whose  new-leaved  branches  trembled  over  head, 
And  sang  their  loves.     Across  the  welkin  blue, 
Flecked  here  and  there  with  islands  of  bright  cloud, 
Shining  Apollo  drove  his  golden  prow, 
Attended  by  the  swift  and  silent  Hours. 
We  heeded  not  their  flying — all  entranced 
In  the  kind  interchange  of  genial  thought  ; 
Nor  could  my  will  restrain  the  tender  words 
That  live  on  poets'  lips  and  long  to  pass 
Low-whispered  into  Beauty's  listening  ear. 

Ye  Churchmen  !    who  delight  in  crowded  aisles 
And  the  loud  chanting  of  the  pompous  choir, 
Chide  as  ye  choose  !     More  dear  to  me  tho  sky 
With  silver-tinted  clouds,  the  woodland-voice, 
The  many  beautiful  forms  of  forest-life, 
The  intercourse  of  happy  human  hearts, 
And  more  accordant  to  the  Sabbath-light, 
And  to  the  Spirit  of  Eternal  Love 
WThich  lives  and  thinks  and  moves  in  every  thing, 
Than  all  the  dim  religious  shows  of  Art  ! 


INSPIRATION     FROM     NATURE. 

We  parted  not  until  the  evening  star 

Displayed  his  glittering  shaft,  at  which  bright  sign 

The  sweet  Egeria  of  my  yearning  soul 

Withdrew  her  hand  from  mine,  and  glided  through, 

Swift  as  an  irrecoverable  dream, 

The  forest's  gathering  shades.    The  rose  she  plucked 

From  out  her  bright  brown  hair  and  gave  to  me 

Dissolved  in  air,  and  in  its  place  the  light 

Of  inextinguishable  faith  and  love 

Sank  deep  into  my  heart.     The  day's  delight 

Had  lull'd  my  spirit  to  so  sweet  a  calm, 

That  as  the  twilight  cheered  my  homeward  way, 

I  heard,  or  plausive  fancy  deemed  she  heard, 

The  Angel-choirs  far  chanting  in  the  West 

From  sapphire  palaces  their  Evening  Hymn. 


TRANSCENDENTALISM. 


HEART  !    my  Heart,  why  such  a  pining 
For  some  Chosen  Thing  to  love  ? 

Is  not  boundless  Beauty  shining 
On  thee,  round  thee,  and  above  ? 

Can'st  thou  not  in  saintly  vision 
Blend  thee  with  the  Perfect  Whole  ? 

Lose  thyself  in  joy  Elysian 
With  the  Universal  Soul  ? 

Bow  thee  to  Ideal  Duty, 

Worship  at  no  sensual  shrine, 

Corporate  thyself  with  Beauty, 
So  eternal,  so  divine. 


TRANSCENDENTALISM.  165 

Be  a  Feeler,  not  a  Doer, 

Passive  yield  to  Nature's  tide, 
Be  to  morning  stars  a  wooer, 

Take  sweet  April  for  thy  bride. 

Never  from  such  cold  refining 

Living,  lasting  bliss  can  spring, 
And  my  Heart,  my  Heart  is  pining, 

For  some  One,  some  Chosen  Thing  ! 


THE     OLD     MUSICIAN. 


HAGGAED  and  pale  the  desolate  old  man 
Lay  in  the  sunshine  of  the  market  place 
One  beauteous  day  in  summer. 

That  spot  had  been  his  only  home  for  years, 
And  the  sweet  faces  of  the  friendly  stars 
His  only  night  companions. 

People  were  gathering  curiously  around, 
For  a  strange  light  spread  o'er  the  .beggar's  face — 
Death's  solemn  inspiration. 

"  Goldoni  !  Pupil  of  my  better  days, 
Bring  hither  now  the  ancient  violin 

Wherewith  you  ravish  Naples, 


THE     OLD     MUSICIAN.  167 

"  For  I  believe  the  spirit  of  my  youth 
Is  mantling  o'er  me  with  the  warmth  and  light 
And  glory  of  the  morning." 

He  passed  the  bow  across  the  trembling  string, 
And  after  some  premonitory  tears 
Began  a  plaintive  measure. 

The  concentrated  sorrows  of  his  life 
Floated  upon  the  soft  Italian  air 
In  tender  undulations. 

He  played — with  eyes  serenely  turned  to  heaven, 
Goldoni  kneeling  silent  at  his  feet, 

And  the  good  people  weeping. 

He  paused  and  smiled — the  silver  cord  was  loosed  ! 
And  the  weird  voices  of  his  breaking  heart 
Died  trembling  into  silence. 

His  face  kept  smiling  whilst  the  angel-troop 
Which  took  the  beggar  from  the  rich  man's  gate 
Bore  off  his  risen  spirit. 


1G8  THE     OLD     MUSICIAN. 

Goldoni,  weeping  o'er  the  old's  man's  neck, 
Heard  from  the  opening  doors  of  heaven  afar 
Such  holy  strains  of  music, 

He  never  drew  an  earthly  note  again, 
But  consecrated  his  immortal  powers 
To  spiritual  devotion. 


THE     IDIOT     NEGKO. 


How  darker  than  the  pall  of  common  night 
Is  man's  estate  when  from  his  clouded  soul 
The  inner  sunlight  fades  away  !     How  drear 
And  like  a  silent  tomb  is  that  dark  mind 
Which  Reason  leaves  and  yet  which  Madness  spares ! 
I  knew  an  idiot  Negro  in  my  youth, 
A  weak  old  man,  half  bent,  and  sad,  and  slow, 
With  crisped  hair  as  hoar  as  morning  frost. 
He  had  been  happier  in  his  early  day  ; 
Quick  of  perception,  stout  of  heart  and  limb  ; 
But  changes  came,  and  waning  by  degrees 
The  taper  of  the  mind  went  out  at  length, 
And  left  its  chambers  in  Cimmerian  gloom. 
With  trembling  hand  upon  his  knotted  staff 


170  THE      IDIOT      NEGRO. 

So  little  seemed  he  like  a  living  thing 
That  the  dull  ox  removed  not  from  his  path 
As  he  came  toiling  by.     An  humble  look, 
The  stamp  of  long  obedience,  and  a  smile 
Which  had  no  meaning  in  its  vacancy, 
Made  every  feeling  passer  pause  and  sigh. 
His  master  tasked  him  with  no  daily  toil, 
But  to  the  woods  and  to  the  pleasant  hills 
He  wandered  forth,  on  no  particular  course, 
But  like  a  ship  whose  pilot  leaves  the  helm, 
Drifting  away  as  any  wind  may  choose. 

Freedom,  the  sweet  consoler,  came  too  late  ; 
He  knew  her  not.     Unnoticed  circled  round 
The  sights  and  sounds  and  motions  manifold 
Of  this  all-vital  world.     Upon  gray  stones, 
And  by  decaying  trunks  of  olden  trees, 
He  leaned  downcast  like  an  insensate  thing, 
Or  gathered  to  his  hat,  with  scrupulous  care 
And  muttered  words,  the  leaves  about  his  feet. 
The  ant  was  busy  in  her  earthen  cell ; 
The  bee  hummed  by  on  his  unwearied  wing ; 
The  nodding  blue-jay  twittered  as  she  sought 
The  reeking  earth-worm  for  her  callow  brood ; 


THE      IDIOT      NEGRO.  171 

The  speckled  fish,  pursuant  of  his  prey, 
Clove  the  bright  waters  with  his  silver  fin  ; 
The  sleek-haired  mole,  toiling  invisible, 
Hoarded  the  acorns  in  his  burrowed  home ; 
All  things,  the  meanest  even,  were  instinct 
With  life  and  liberty,  with  hope  and  love, 
Save  him  who  sat  alone,  a  broken  link, 
Fallen  useless  from  the  mighty  chain  of  things. 

Thus  long  he  lived,  for  busied  with  the  crowd 

Of  loftier  objects  for  his  tireless  dart, 

Death  marked  him  not.      And  when   the   tyrant 

came 

The  victim  shrank  not  from  his  chilling  grasp, 
But  calm,  as  a  blind  man  who  stands  unmoved 
Upon  the  dreadful  brink  of  an  abyss, 
Could  not  distinguish  his  stern  enemy 
From  a  familiar  friend.     'T  was  but  a  step 
From  his  dark  state  of  being  to  the  grave. 

Few  now  can  show  his  lowly  resting  place. 
The  wild  grass  overgrew  th'  unchiseled  stone, 
The  briar  unchecked  has  interlocked  her  thorns 
Around  the  head-piece,  and  th'  approaching  tread 


172  THE     IDIOT      NEGRO. 

Might  make  the  coward  hare  scud  from  her  form 
And  fright  the  wood-thrush  in  her  matted  nest ; 
But  there  will  come  a  time,  a  blessed  time, 
When  the  unaltered  soul  which  here  we  saw 
Like  an  enchanted  statue,  shall  awake 
As  from  a  long,  long  sleep  without  a  dream. 


THE    SOUTHERN    MAN. 


Is  the  festive  banquet  spread  ? 
Shall  merry  Bacchus  reign  ? 
Is  it  whisky  pale  or  brandy  red  ; 
Is  it  claret  or  champagne  ? 
Clink  your  glasses  0, 
Tipple  it  while  you  can  ; 
But  boys  !  I'm  thinking,  for  social  drinking, 
There's  none  like  the  Southern  man  ! 

Is  it  a  friend  who  needs 

The  help  of  words  or  gold  ? 
Is  it  a  sight  of  woe  that  pleads, 

Or  a  tale  of  sorrow  told  ? 


174  THE     SOUTHERN     MAN. 

Hearts  and  purses  wide  ! 
Scatter  whate'er  you  can  ; 
But  for  generous  living  and  cheerful  giving, 
There's  none  like  the  Southern  man  ! 


Is  it  the  fiddle  you  hear  ? 

The  ball-room  in  a  glow  ; 
With  the  handsome  lads  and  ladies  dear, 
Smiling  all  in  a  row  ? 
Call  the  figures  loud  ! 
Trip  it  light  as  you  can  ; 
But  for  graceful  dancing,  till  morn  advancing, 
There's  none  like  the  Southern  man  1 


Is  it  a  fight  on  hand  ? 

For  sacred  cause  or  none — 
For  a  silly  word  or  Fatherland? 
With  a  dozen  foes  or  one  ? 
Clear  the  ring,  my  boys  ! 
Battle  it  while  you  can  ; 
But  for  gallant  bearing  and  reckless  daring, 
There's  none  like  the  Southern  man  ! 


THE     SOUTHERN     MAN.  175 

Is  it  a  lass  to  woo  ? 

Some  idol  to  adore — • 
Amongst  the  black  eyes  or  the  blue, 
The  rich  belles  or  the  poor  ? 
Ladies  !  mark  my  words, 
And  profit  if  e'er  you  can  : 
For  ardent  loving  and  faithful  proving, 
There 's  none  like  the  Southern  man  ! 

Is  it  the  just  and  right  ? 

Is  it  the  good  and  true  ? 
Aid  it  and  bless  it  with  all  your  might, 
Whether  it's  old  or  new. 
Give  it  heart  and  hand  ! 
Uphold  it  the  best  you  can  : 
But  for  honest  dealing  and  true,  good  feeling, 
There  's  none  like  the  Southern  man  ! 


THE     MINE. 


I  TREAD  a  dark  and  cheerless  mine, 

Unnumbered  feet  below, 
Where  April  mornings  never  shine, 

And  violets  never  grow. 

But  far  above,  as  fancy  deems, 

Commingled  sounds  I  hear, 
Music  of  birds,  and  winds,  and  streams, 

Falls  faintly  on  my  ear. 

Such  is  our  home,  this  dreary  earth 

To  our  dark  natures  given, 
But  sounds  of  an  immortal  birth 

Come  to  our  souls  from  heaven. 


SUNSHINE. 


THERE  lies  the  sunshine  on  my  floor, 
So  soft,  so  pure,  so  bright  ! 

A  message  from  the  Spring  out-door, 
A  fragment  of  its  light, 

To  woo  me  from  my  dreary  mood, 

And  call  me  forth  to  field  and  wood. 


Shine  on,  sweet  Light  !    I  can  not  steal 
To  forests,  streams  and  bowers 

As  in  my  boyhood,  for  I  feel 
The  load  of  painful  hours  ; 

But  I  accept  thy  golden  cheer, 

And  smile  amid  my  sorrows  here. 


178  SUNSHINE. 

'T  is  thus  into  our  hearts  from  heaven 
Comes  down  the  ideal  ray, 

By  guardian  spirits  kindly  given, 
A  love-beam  on  our  way, 

A  solace  for  our  mortal  cares, 

Prophetic  of  celestial  spheres. 


ALL     IS    WELL." 


WHEN  Aurora's  hands  have  spun 
Golden  vestures  for  the  sun, 
From  the  radiant  eastern  hill 
Voices  on  the  ether  thrill, 
Like  the  Morning  Angels  crying, 
To  the  Guards  of  Night  replying 

"  All  is  well/' 
And  in  earthly  echoes  dying, 

"  All  is  well." 

In  the  dusty,  burning  clime, 
Toiling  in  the  noon  of  Time, 
Lo  !   the  fainting  reaper  hears 
Music  from  serener  spheres, 


180  "ALL    is    WELL' 

Like  the  ripples  of  a  river, 
Whispering,  surging,  ceasing  never, 

"All  is  well," 
Surging,  whispering  on  forever, 

'•All  is  well." 

When  the  broken  hues  of  light 
Fade  upon  the  western  height, 
Sacred  hymnings  from  afar 
Float  from  evening's  gentle  star, 
Like  the  Guardian  Souls  who  lead  us, 
Calling  from  the  heavenly  meadows, 

"All  is  well," 
Calling  to  this  world  of  shadows, 

"  All  is  well." 


THE  OLD  COUNTKY  CHURCH. 


IT  was  a  spot  to  calm  the  fretted  mind, 
To  wean  the  heart  from  transitory  things 
And  turn  to  heaven.     Upon  a  hill  remote, 
Embosomed  in  a  brotherhood  of  trees, 
The  ruined  Church  appeared.     The  wooden  stile 
Had  rotted  to  its  fall,  the  leaning  fence 
Creaked  in  the  wind  of  summer.     Grass  had  grown 
Across  the  path  and  ventured  to  the  door. 
Luxuriant  boughs  lay  on  the  swagging  roof, 
Which,  like  the  face  of  some  old  rock,  appeared 
Rugged  and  brown  and  covered  o'er  with  moss, 
Dripping  with   moisture.     Through  the    shattered 

panes 
The  swallow  passed  with  straw  upon  her  bill, 


182        THE     OLD     CO  UJ?  TRY     CHURCH. 

Or  earth-worm  for  her  young.     The  prowling  poor, 
Or  passing  emigrants  hard  by  encamped, 
Had  broken  the  shutters  for  their  evening  fire. 
The  humbler  graves,  that   once  were   decked  with 

flowers, 

The  head-boards  gone,  the  footstones  all  displaced, 
Were  sunken  deep  and  full  of  withered  leaves. 
The  slender  railing  which  had  once  inclosed 
The  separate  family  had  fallen  down 
And  let  the  intruder  in.     Kankly  the  weeds 
O'ertopped  the  battered  monuments,  and  hid 
The  rural  records  of  forgotten  things. 

Such  was  the  spot :  and  there  in  autumn  time, 

When  parting  sunshine  clad  the  distant  hills 

In  all  the  golden  drapery  of  eve, 

Have  I  reclined  for  hours,  and  unappalled 

By  the  unmoving  specters  of  the  place, 

Silence  and  Desolation,  have  called  up, 

By  sweet  imagination's  fairy  power, 

The  long  entranced  Spirit  of  the  past 

For  my  companion.     Warming  Memory 

Kelit  the  pleasing  pictures  that  for  years 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  CHURCH.    183 

Were  latent  on  the  canvas  of  the  soul. 

The  vestiges  of  rank  decay  were  gone, 

And  the  bright  Sabbath  brought  the  eager  crowd 

To  the  old  Church  again.     The  rustic  vehicles 

Groaned  o'er  the  stony  road.     Along  the  fence 

And  by  the  trees  the  patient  horses  stood. 

The  plain  old  elder  of  the  flock  was  there, 

Close  to  the  desk,  and  lined  the  ancient  psalm  ; 

The  portly  matron  in  her  snowy  cap, 

Slyly  observant  of  the  pranking  boy ; 

The  bare-armed  infant  on  the  nurse's  knee  ; 

The  buxom  girls,  unconscious  of  their  charms, 

Or  archly  imitative  of  the  town  ; 

The  awkward  stripling,  whose  untutored  face 

Betrayed  his  artless  love  ;  the  minister 

With  kindly  look  and  gentle  word  for  all, 

Austere  and  chilling  only  in  his  creed. 

I  heard  the  prayer,  and  the  concluding  hymn, 

Whose  echoes  lingered  round  the  jutting  eves 

And  dipt  away  into  the  quiet  wood. 

But  with  the  glimmering  of  the  twilight  hour 

The   spell  would  break,   and  the   approaching 

shades 
Unpeople  the  old  Church  again. 


184        THE     OLD      COUNTRY      CHURCH. 

But   Still, 

Though  human  footstep  rarely  treads  the  scene, 
Nature  hath  left  her  sounds  and  colors  there, 
And  many  beautiful  forms  of  forest  life 
Surround  the  spot  and  evermore  maintain 
Inaudible  worship  of  the  Deity. 
The  birds  fulfill  their  offices  of  love 
In  every  nook.     The  plaining  stock-dove  coos 
All  the  bright  noon-day  from  the  rustling  oak. 
The  truant  bee  and  velvet  butterfly 
Flit  o'er  the  rugged  mounds.     From  bench  to  bench 
The  cautious  spider  weaves  his  filmy  snare. 
The  enameled  serpent  by  the  crumbling  step 
Enjoys  the  sunny  beam.     In  the  still  night 
The  dreary  owl  and  lonely  whip-poor-will 
Mourn  to  each  other  on  the  shuddering  air. 
The  dews  come  softly  to  the  hoary  walls, 
And  moonlight  sleeps  upon  the  silent  floor. 


THE     MYSTIC     UNION. 


A  LIGHT  of  glory  to  our  feet  benighted  ! 

A  voice  of  resurrection  to  the  dead  ! 
"  E'en  as  the  Father  to  the  Son  united, 

So  shall  ye  be  to  Christ  your  living  head." 

What  doth  it  mean  ?     In  these  poor  hearts  of  ours 
Can  the  Omniscient  a  sojourner  be, 

As  sunbeams  nestle  in  the  souls  of  flowers, 
Or  angels  come  to  sleeping  infancy  ? 

Ah,  yes  !    Rejoice,  ye  contrite  broken-hearted  ! 

His  Holy  Presence  dissipates  your  sin  ; 
Remember  how  the  raging  storm  departed 

From  the  lone  ship  when  Jesus  stept  therein. 


186  THE      MYSTIC      UNION. 

Oh  !   let  his  Love,  a  sacred  fire  out-going, 
Consume  each  molten  image  from  our  sight ; 

And  be  our  spirits,  to  his  Truth  in-flowing, 
Transparent  as  the  diamond  is  to  light ! 

It  is  the  soul  which  makes  its  own  external  ; 

All  things  are  outbirths  from  her  inmost  sphere ; 
Sunshines  of  peace  on  landscapes  ever  vernal, 

And  wastes  of  winter  come  alike  from  her. 

The  love  of  G-od,  the  fealty  which  we  owe  Him, 
Grafted  upon  our  hearts  and  fruitful  there, 

Will  make  the  outward  life  a  noble  poem, 
By  making  first  the  inner  life  a  prayer. 

Is  not  the  Holy,  beautiful  Ideal 

The  Father  of  our  hope  and  joy  and  love  ? 
Which  conies  incarnate  in  the  grosser  Real, 

Remolding  it  by  patterns  from  above  ? 

Joy  springs  from  sorrow,  virtue  from  temptation, 
And  daily  death  is  but  a  happier  birth  ; 

Then  comes  our  Sabbath  of  regeneration, 
Uniting;  heaven  for  evermore  with  earth. 


THE     S TEE AM    OF    LIFE. 


As  gayly  down  the  stream  of  Time 

Fast  glides  this  bark  of  ours, 
The  heart  should  swell  to  pleasure's  chime, 

The  bark  be  trimmed  with  flowers. 

Ethereal  music  fills  the  sail, 

And  rainbows  span  the  prow, 
Prophetic  sounds  of  evil  fail, 

And  angels  guide  us  now. 

They  say  this  wave,  whose  whispering  gush 

Is  soft  as  slumber's  breath, 
O'er  darkling  steeps  and  rocks  will  rush 

Into  th'  abyss  of  death. 


188  THE      STREAM      OF      LIFE. 

Believe  it  not  !      At  close  of  day, 

Whilst  dreaming  safe  we  lie, 
This  stream  will  bend  its  upward  way 

Towards  the  evening  sky  ; 

Will  glide  through  clouds  of  pearl  and  gold, 

And  plains  of  azure  too, 
In  light  and  music  softly  rolled 

To  heaven's  eternal  blue. 

So  gayly  down  the  stream  of  time 

Fast  glides  this  bark  of  ours, 
Our  bosoms  swell  to  pleasure's  chime, 

Our  bark  is  trimmed  with  flowers, 


THE    INFANT     IN     HEAVEN. 


WHERE  Death,  in  yon  deserted  ground, 

His  garnered  harvest  keeps, 
Beside  a  small  and  verdant  mound, 

A  lonely  Mother  weeps. 

Upon  the  glittering  turf  she  sits, 
Like  one  in  mournful  dreams, 

The  trusting  bird  around  her  flits, 
So  motionless  she  seems, 

In  attitude  of  one  whose  mind 

Implores  a  word  of  cheer, 
Who  e'en  unto  the  whispering  wind 

Inclines  an  anxious  ear. 


190     THE   INFANT   IN   HEAVEN. 

She  sees  by  more  than  fancy's  light 

The  pale,  cold  face  below, 
Whose  infant  roses  were  so  bright 

A  few  sad  days  ago. 

Meanwhile,  beyond  the  curtaining  skies, 
The  Lost  One  finds  his  rest, 

And  leans,  with  love-illumined  eyes, 
Upon  an  angel's  breast. 

Whilst  angel-sisters  deck  his  brow 
With  their  immortal  flowers, 

And  lulling  music  whispers  low 
Through  the  celestial  bowers. 

A  nursling  of  the  heavens,  he  lives 
In  heaven's  eternal  bloom  ; 

But  Nature's  holy  tie  survives 
The  passage  of  the  tomb  : 

For  list  !    what  does  the  loving  breeze 

Unto  the  mourner  speak  ? 
And  see  !    a  sunbeam  through  the  trees 

Hath  kissed  the  mourner's  cheek  ! 


THE      INFANT      IN      HEAVEN.  191 

0,  weeping  Mother  !    couldst  thou  read 

The  symbols  round  thee  given, 
Thy  gladdened  heart  would  surely  heed 

These  messages  from  heaven  ! 


CONSOLATION    FROM    NATUEE, 


0  !    SEEK  a  pleasant  valley 
When  thy  soul  is  full  of  care, 

Or  a  forest,  where  the  lulling  wave 
Can  ripple  in  thine  ear; 

Where  the  winds  are  softly  sighing 
Through  the  dark  and  solemn  pines, 

And  the  light  upon  the  verdant  ground 
In  broken  splendor  shines  ; 

Where  the  little  birds  unfettered 
Warble  blithely  as  they  please, 

And  the  squirrel  leapeth  lightsomely 
Among  his  native  trees. 


CONSOLATION     FKOM       NATURE. 

The  freshness  and  the  silence 

And  the  beauty  will  impart 
A  balm  unto  thy  fretted  thought, 

A  peace  unto  thy  heart. 

The  lofty  mountain  waters 

Are  shattered  to  and  fro, 
And  find  no  peace  until  they  glide 

Into  the  vale  below ; 

In  lowliness  of  spirit 

Our  hearts  are  newly  blest, 
And  thousand  gentle  stars  of  heaven 

Are  pictured  in  the  breast. 

Nor  is  it  all  a  fancy 

That  the  Spirits  of  the  wood, 
And  those  that  haunt  the  meadow  walks, 

Are  Messengers  of  Good, 

That  hover  kindly  round  us 

In  every  beauteous  thing, 
To  sweetly  steal  our  cares  away 

And  heavenly  comfort  bring. 


PHILANTHROPIST. 

THIS  Canary  must  be  free  ; 
Nature's  law  is  liberty  ! 
Don't  you  know  it  is  a  sin 
To  keep  this  little  bird  within  ? 

CHILD. 
My  sweet  mother  gave  it  me. 

PHILANTHKOPIST. 

Oh  the  wicked  tyrant  she  ! 

CHILD. 

Some  one  else  imprisoned  it. 


PHILANTHROPIST      AND      CHILD.          195 
PHILANTHROPIST. 

Mends  the  matter  not  a  bit. 
You  must  answer  for  its  pain, 
Give  it  liberty  again. 

CHILD. 
I  love  the  helpless  creature  so  ! 

PHILANTHROPIST. 

'T  is  a  selfish  love,  we  know. 

CHILD. 

It  sings  so  sweetly  every  morn. 

PHILANTHROPIST. 

Sing  yourself  when  it  has  gone. 

CHILD. 

'T  was  not  born  or  nurtured  here  ; 
In  this  foreign  clime,  I  fear, 
Freedom  would  not  do  it  good  ; 
'Twill  freeze  or  perish  in  the  wood. 

PHILANTHROPIST. 

Nature  amply  will  provide, 
All  its  wants  will  be  supplied  ; 


196  THE     PHILANTHROPIST 

'T  will  "  develop/'  when  it 's  freed  ; 
Give  the  sacred  Gospel  heed. 
Hear  it — "Let  the  oppressed  go  free  !" 
Give  this  bird  his  liberty. 

CHILD. 

Ah  !  but  if  he  flies  away, 
Will  not  ugly  birds  of  prey, 
Stronger,  fiercer,  pounce  on  him, 
Tearing  madly  limb  from  limb  ? 

PHILANTHROPIST. 

He  must  take  his  equal  chances, 
Whilst  "  Progression"  still  advances. 
"  Higher  Law"  's  the  one  to  bind  most, 
Let  the  Devil  take  the  hindmost. 

CHILD. 

Though  but  a  child,  it  seems  to  me 
Such  "  higher  law"  is  cruelty. 
I'll  not  obey  ! 

PHILANTHROPIST. 

I  '11  break  the  cage  ! 

CHILD. 
You  '11  kill  the  bird  ! 


AND     THE     CHILD.  197 

PHILANTHROPIST. 

I  do  n't  engage 

For  what  the  consequence  may  be, 
But  "higher  law"  cries  "liberty  !" 

CHILD. 

You  are  unwise  ! 

PHILANTHROPIST. 

I  '11  break  the  cage  ! 

CHILD. 

A  Christian  man  in  such  a  rage  ! 
Now  I  believe,  though  weak  and  small, 
You  are  no  Christian  man  at  all ! 


DESCENSUS    AVEENI. 


A     MYSTICISM. 


A  YOUTH  in  the  land  of  Immortals, 
Engirdled  with  love  like  a  zone, 

In  the  sunshine  and  glory  of  morning, 
Went  dreamily  wandering  alone. 

Far  down  to  the  borders  of  Aidenn, 
Far  down  to  the  crystalline  walls, 

O'er  which  to  the  spaces  beneath  them 
God's  Light,  like  a  cataract,  falls. 

In-drawn,  he  was  fixedly  pondering, 
With  an  ardor  akin  to  strife, 

On  the  questions  which  have  no  answers, 
And  the  awful  riddle  of  Life. 


DESCENSUS       AVER  N  I  .  199 

With  a  feeling  of  dread  to  have  wandered 
From  the  center  of  Heaven  so  far, 

That  the  sun  of  its  holy  meridian 
Had  dwindled  almost  to  a  star, 

He  gazed  on  the  verdurous  tissues 
That  glittered  and  grew  at  his  feet, 

When  he  saw  a  most  wonderful  Serpent 
Glide  out  of  its  hidden  retreat  : 

A  rainbow  of  serpentine  colors, 

Gold,  silver,  and  crimson  and  green, 

So  like  to  the  beautiful  herbage, 
That  its  motions  were  scarcely  seen. 

It  glided  away  like  a  Spirit, 

Like  a  thought  which  we  can  not  retain, 
And  the  Youth,  of  its  splendor  enamored, 

Sought  after  it  over  the  plain. 

He  lost  it  mid  grasses  and  blossoms 
That  swayed  in  the  sighing  breeze — 

And  he  came  to  a  granite  Fountain, 
In  the  shadow  of  odorous  trees  : 


200  DESCENSUS      AVERNI. 

A  Fount  with  a  sculptured  basin 

Of  Paradise-water  there, 
As  placid  as  if  it  was  frozen, 

As  lucid  as  if  it  was  air. 

Forgetting  the  ethereal  nectars 

To  innermost  angels  given, 
He  scooped  in  his  shell-tinct  fingers 

The  marginal  water  of  Heaven, 

When  a  Dove  with  fluttering  pinions 
Alit  on  his  outstretched  arm, 

With  the  plaintive  wail  of  a  mother 
Who  would  shield  her  child  from  harm. 

In  the  reckless  thought  of  the  moment, 
He  brushed  the  sweet  bird  away, 

The  bird  which  had  seen  how  the  Serpent 
Encoiled  in  the  water  lay  ! 

What  a  change  in  the  world  within  him  ! 

And  thence  in  the  world  without  ! 
The  old  path  he  could  find  no  longer 

However  he  turned  about. 


DESCENSUS      AVERNI.  201 

He  saw  naught  but  an  iron  portal 

That  led  to  a  desolate  moor, 
A  region  of  stone-heaps  and  shadows — 

And  he  passed  through  the  iron  door. 

9* 


THE     MAGIC     GARDEN. 


I  WALKED  in  the  magic  garden 
That  lies  in  the  summer  air, 

Upborne  by  the  purple  mountains, 
And  cloud -encircled  there  : 

A  place  of  wonder  and  glory, 
Where  Nature  has  no  control, 

But  outward  things  are  the  symbols 
Of  things  within  the  soul. 

Thus,  Zephyr,  the  lonely  shepherd 
That  piped  in  the  orange  grove, 

Was  the  sound  of  my  heart  a-sighing 
For  some  chosen  one  to  love  ; 


THE      MAGIC      GARDEN.  203 

And  the  rivulet's  face  of  silver, 
As  it  looked  to  the  azure  heaven, 

Was  the  light  of  my  soul  rejoicing, 
In  the  Truth  which  God  had  given. 

On  a  path  that  sweetly  meandered, 
Like  a  careless  train  of  thought, 

I  revolved  the  sacred  enigma, 
And  found  the  answer  I  sought. 

An  Angel  appeared  before  me, 

Or  a  Demon  in  bright  disguise, 
With  a  heaven  of  womanly  graces 

Enshrined  in  her  love-lit  eyes. 

With  a  face  of  superlative  beauty, 
With  features  so  strangely  bright, 

They  shone  in  that  radiant  garden 
As  a  meteor  shines  in  the  night. 

She  stood  in  a  golden  halo, 

In  a  sphere  of  magical  art, 
An  aura  of  musical  motions 

That  thrilled  to  my  inmost  heart. 


204  THE      MAGIC       GARDEN. 

She  proffered  a  golden  goblet, 

Brimful  of  a  rosy  wine  ; 
Her  lips  had  just  deepened  its  color, 

And  she  proffered  it  then  to  mine. 

"  0,  this  is  the  dew  of  Heaven," 
She  said,  with  a  luring  smile, 

And  my  heart — 0,  it  wildly  fluttered 
With  passionate  throbs  the  while. 

There  had  stood  a  rose-bush  near  me, 
With  listening  roses  thereon — 

But  lo  !    in  a  luminous  moment 
The  roses  and  leaves  were  gone  : 

And  a  rare  and  beautiful  Maiden 
Came  suddenly  shining  there  ; 

Like  a  soul  from  the  dead  arising 
She  rose  on  the  fragrant  air. 

She  proffered  a  silver  goblet 
Brimful  of  a  crystal  dew, 

In  the  grasp  of  her  pearl-tinct  fingers 
It  brighter  and  brighter  grew. 


THE      MAGIC      GARDEN.  205 

"  I  give  thee  the  water  of  Heaven," 
She  said,  with  a  smile  of  light — 

And  my  heart — 0,  it  sweetly  fluttered 
With  the  joy  of  a  marriage  night. 

I  gazed  from  one  to  the  other 

In  silent  and  deep  debate, 
The  look  of  the  one  was  Pity, 

The  look  of  the  other  was  Hate. 

When  lo  !    I  beheld  in  the  Maiden 

An  expression  of  purest  love, 
Like  the  face  of  my  angel-mother, 

Which  I  knew  was  shining  above. 

I  drank  of  her  mystical  goblet, 

And  by  its  revealing  art 
I  saw  that  a  venomous  serpent 

Was  gnawing  the  Syren's  heart. 

She  paled  like  a  cloud  disappearing, 
And  where  she  had  stood  there  upgrew 

The  dark  green  leaves  of  the  nightshade, 
And  its  berries  of  ghastly  blue. 


206  THE      MAGIC      GARDEN. 

Then  a  star  glanced  up  into  heaven, 
And  the  garden  dissolved  into  air, 

Whilst  I  knelt  at  my  eastern  window, 
With  my  soul  dissolved  in  prayer. 


SPIRITUAL     VISION. 


OH  !  turn  into  my  palace 
From  thy  weary,  dusty  way  ; 

A  cup  of  wine  shall  glad  thy  heart 
And  music  cheer  thy  stay. 

The  crystal  gate  is  open 

On  golden  hinge  ajar, 
And  down  the  odorous  avenues 

The  portals  gleam  afar. 

The  myrtles  and  magnolias 

Give  out  ^Eolian  tones, 
And  statues  twinkle  through  the  trees 

Enwrought  of  precious  stones. 


208  SPIRITUAL      VISION. 

The  mystic  soul  of  Beauty 
Shall  meet  thee  face  to  face, 

For  Peace  the  Angel  fixes  here 
Her  charmed  dwelling-place. 

"  What  braggart  words  of  folly 
Are  these  thou  speakst  to  me  ? 

Thou  poor  old  doting  mendicant, 
As  blind  as  thou  canst  be  ! 

"  Thy  wine  is  naught  but  watei 
Dipped  from  the  rustic  spring  ! 

Thou  hast  no  music  here,  unless 
The  birds  may  choose  to  sing. 

"I  see  a  lowly  cottage, 

Instead  of  kingly  hall, 
Thy  avenues  and  sculptured  gems — 

I  see  them  not  at  all. 

"  Thy  mystic  soul  of  Beauty 
Is  a  phantom  of  thy  brain, 

Thy  Angels  must  be  Discontent, 
And  Poverty,  and  Pain." 


SPIRITUAL      VISION.  209 

Now  by  thy  thought  outspoken, 

Poor  wanderer  !  I  discern 
How  much  of  Love  thou  hast  to  feel, 
Of  Wisdom  hast  to  learn  ! 

Go  out  into  the  highways, 

And  speak  the  words  of  cheer  ; 

Keturn  the  joyful  smile  for  smile 
The  mourning — tear  for  tear. 

Find  thy  own  life  in  others, 

And  then  come  back  to  me  ; 
And  thou  shalt  hear  what  I  have  heard, 

And  see  what  I  can  see. 

The  inner  world  of  splendor 

Is  sealed  to  carnal  eyes  ; 
Invisible  to  selfish  man 

Is  saintly  Paradise  ; 

But  like  the  laughing  Dryad 

Within  the  blooming  tree, 
There  is  a  World  within  the  World 

The  Good  alone  can  see. 


THE     SHEPHEKD    OF     CYPRUS. 


I  HUMBLY  thank  you,  Greek  Philosophers  ! 
Who  come  so  far  to  hear  a  Christian  talk, 
Old,  blind  and  wretched,  to  the  beasts  condemned. 
I  heard  just  now  the  hungry  lion's  growl, 
And  my  flesh  trembled,  and  my  hair  uprose, 
But  my  true  self  was  calm  and  unappalled  ; 
Glory  to  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost  ! 

No  doubt  you  are  weary  of  my  simple  words, 
For  preaching  Christ  is  plain  and  spiritual, 
Unlike  your  philosophic  diatribes  ; 
So  I  will  tell  you  of  a  wondrous  thing 
Which  happened  when  I  was  a  shepherd  boy 
In  my  native  Isle  of  Cyprus  ;  whence  began 
My  long  discipleship  to  good  St.  John, 
And  my  eternal  bondage  to  the  Cross. 


THE     SHEPHERD     OP     CYPBUS.  211 

One  bright  Spring  morning,  when  the  tender  grass 
Had  just  been  moistened  with  a  little  shower 
Like  a  child's  tears,  which  a  soft-coming  wind 
Sweet  as  a  mother's  lips,  had  kissed  away, 
My  blue-eyed  sister  and  myself  led  out 
Our  little  flock,  just  twenty-four  in  all, 
To  feed  them  at  the  green,  secluded  foot 
Of  a  lofty  mountain.     There  we  played  awhile 
Along  the  margin  of  a  winding  stream 
Which  skirted  leisurely  the  mountain's  base, 
A  silver  hem  upon  its  flowing  robe 
Of  forest  green,  trying  in  vain  to  float 
Young  flowers  new  gathered  from  their  juicy  stems, 
Like  mimic  gallies  on  the  bright-faced  water. 
In  careless  sport  at  last  we  ventured  in, 
Planting  our  naked  feet  on  golden  sand, 
And  wading  softly  till  the  water-nymph 
Clasped  us,  with  cooling  kisses,  round  the  knees, 
Making  us  laugh. 

We  gained  the  other  bank, 

Where  we  had  never  been  before,  when  suddenly 
We  heard  snch  wondrous  music  up  the  height, 
That  we  forgot  our  flock  and  the  dread  chance 


212          THE     SHEPHERD     OF     CYPRUS. 

Of  meeting  some  wild  creature  in  the  woods, 
And  followed  it.     We  climbed  the  shaded  slopes 
So  eagerly,  we  did  not  turn  to  see 
The  radiant  picture  which  was  spread  below  ; 
The  town-built  valleys,  and  the  rock-bridged  streams, 
Green-growing  pastures,  and  the  purpled  hills 
O'erhung  with  shifting  canopies  of  cloud ; 
And,  too  remote  to  hear  its  ceaseless  sound, 
The  flossy  white  surf  of  the  emerald  sea, 
Far  shining  up  and  down  the  golden-beach. 

We  climbed  the  wooded  slopes,  and  as  we  went 
We  both  began  to  glow,  not  with  fatigue 
But  love,  and  when  we  paused,  't  was  not  to  rest 
But  to  embrace  each  other,  heart  to  heart, 
To  beg  forgiveness  and  to  be  forgiven 
For  past  offenses,  and  with  tears  renew 
Our  pledges  of  affection,  strangely  moved 
By  powers  invisible.     Thus  on  we  went, 
Upward  and  onward,  hand  in  hand  conjoined, 
In  atmosphere  serene  of  peace  and  joy. 

As  we  approached  the  summit,  wondering  much 
How  sweet  and  cool  the  sea-air  was  so  high, 


THE     SHEPHERD     OF     CYPRUS.         213 

And  peering  vainly  under  every  copse 
For  the  strange  sounds  which  had  attracted  us, 
But  which  now  ceased,  we  saw  the  Holy  Man 
Forth  issuing  from  a  dark  and  mossy  grotto, 
Whose  entrance  was  o'erhung  by  netted  vines. 
Pie  held  a  parchment  in  his  hand  ;   his  eyes 
Were  lambent  with  the  light  of  heavenly  love — 
Light  left  upon  him  by  the  "open  heaven" 
Of  which  you  read  in  his  Apocalypse. 
His  locks  were  white  as  snow  and  soft  as  silk, 
But  still  you  never  could  have  thought  him  old, 
For  a  strange  youthfulness  shone  in  his  face  ; 
His  delicate  features,  like  a  rosy  girl's, 
Beaming  with  beautiful  simplicity. 

Outstretching  to  us  both  his  long  white  hands 

With  an  ethereal  tenderness,  he  said, 

"  Children  !  what  brings  you  to  my  lone  retreat  ?" 

"  The  music,"  I  replied,  abashed  and  low, 

While  my  coy  sister  earnestly  looked  down, 

Digging  the  soft  turf  with  her  little  foot. 

"  Music  ?  I  heard  none" — was  his  slow  response  ; 

But  in  a  moment,  with  a  sudden  gleam 

Of  comprehension  on  his  brow,  he  added, 


214         THE     SHEPHERD     OF     CYPRUS. 

"  Ah  !    I  perceive  that  you  are  blest  of  Heaven, 

And  are  partakers  of  the  spiritual  sight. 

You  need  no  revelation  more  but  this, 

Love  one  another,  for  our  Life  is  Love. 

For  thee,  0  bright  and  blue-eyed  daughter  of  the 

vale, 

Celestial  angels  keep  impatient  watch  ; 
But  we,  young  Shepherd  !    we  shall  meet  again. 
Behold  the  messengers  which  will  conduct 
Your  wandering  footsteps  to  their  wonted  paths  !" 
Smiling,  he  turned  into  the  shadowy  grot, 
Casting  a  silver  light  upon  its  wall. 

Then  first  we  saw  the  Heaven-sent  messengers, 
As  stars  come  out  when  sunlight  disappears. 
A  milk-white  Lamb,  fair  as  another  child, 
Up  started  from  my  sister's  feet  and  frisked, 
Playfully  gamboling  as  it  moved  in  light 
Adown  the  slope.     With  childish  ecstasy 
Clapping  her  hands,  she  started  in  pursuit 
Of  the  bright  creature.     At  my  side  I  saw 
A  fiery  Eagle  with  imperial  eye, 
Slowly  unfolding  his  majestic  wings 
All  silver  tipped.     He  then  appeared  to  move 


THE     SHEPHERD     OF      CYPRUS.         215 

In  unison  with  something  in  myself ;    - 
Gliding  serenely  on  from  bough  to  bough, 
Flitting  and  perching  where  mine  eye  directed, 
As  if  he  were  the  shadow  of  my  soul, 
Or  echo  of  my  thought. 

Thus  down  we  went, 
And  as  we  went  I  saw  a  lion  couched 
Upon  the  leaves  asleep,  his  huge  fore  feet 
Half-hidden  by  his  brindled  mane.     We  passed 
Breathless  on  tip-toe  by,  and  then  descried 
A  great  brown  serpent  dangling  from  a  tree, 
Like  a  vast  spiral  grape-vine,  coil  on  coil, 
Harmless,  for  some  enchanter  had  been  there 
Lulling  his  fierce  malignant  soul  to  sleep. 

Thus  wondering,  hurrying  down  we  went,  in  all 
The  silence  and  the  mystery  of  a  dream, 
Until  we  touched  the  bright-faced  wave  again  ; 
When  lo  !   the  Lamb  and  Eagle  disappeared, 
Bright  symbols,  vanishing  away  like  thoughts. 
We  crossed  in  trepidation,  and  looked  back, 
But  every  trace  of  mystery  was  gone  ; 
We  were  surrounded  by  the  common  things 
Which  we  had  seen  a  thousand  times  before  ; 


216          THE      SHEPHERD     OF      CYPRUS. 

The  old,  familiar  wind  was  in  the  pines, 
And  sunset  slowly  reddened  up  the  steep. 

I  know  you  would  now  ask  me  if  I  take 
These  strange  events  for  fact  or  metaphor. 
Both — I  reply  ;  for  Nature's  outward  forms 
Are  plastic  to  the  molding  breath  of  Spirit, 
And  every  thing  created  in  its  turn 
Contains  a  spiritual  essence,  which  is  truth. 
Thus  metaphor  is  spiritual  wisdom  couched 
In  natural  language,  and  a  miracle 
Is  but  the  outplay  of  a  spiritual  law 
Into  th'  expanse  of  nature. 

Would  you  know 

More  of  these  mysteries,  for  my  time  is  short 
And  my  strength  failing,  the  great  Comforter, 
Who  is  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  will  guide  your  spirits 
Into  all  truth.     My  last  hour  I  would  spend 
In  solitary  prayer.     Remember  what  I  told  you 
About  the  Eesurrection.     Good  friends  !   adieu  ! 


TRIBUTE 


TO    KMANUEL    SWEDENBORG. 


LOST  from  her  altars,  Nature's  noblest  Priest ! 

On  earth  ignored,  traduced,  misunderstood, 
Thou  hast  ascended  to  the  empyreal  feast 

With  thy  co-laborers,  the  Wise  and  Good. 
Men,  all  too  weak  or  blind  the  Truth  to  see, 

Would    shroud   thy   grave    in   thickest    pall  of 

night, 
Where  Angels  with  prophetic  smiles  of  light 

Have  planted  flowers  of  immortality. 
Like  mountain-peak  emerging  from  a  flood, 

In  clouds  and  darkness  lone  thou  standest  now, 
As  to  the  ark  one  sacred  summit  stood, 

When  all  the  world  was  sunk  in  waves  below  : 
10 


218       SONNET    TO    EMA.NUEL    SWEDENB011G. 

But  in  the  future  when  the  watery  waste, 
By  the  great  ocean  of  God's  Light  displaced, 
Shall  of  its  ravage  leave  no  mark  to  tell, 
Men  in  their  vales  shall  view  thee  from  afar 
Towering  serenely  by  the  Morning  Star, 
In  height  of  glory  inaccessible. 


A     HOME     PICTURE. 


THEY  have  wheeled  the  Old  Man's  easy  chair 

Under  the  blossoming  cherry  tree  ; 

For  he  still  delights  to  hear  and  see 
What  Spring  is  about  in  the  open  air  ; 
For  his  heart  is  young,  though  his  head  is  old, 
And  the  light  about  him  is  purple  and  gold. 

A  bright-eyed  Boy  is  at  his  knee, 
And  the  Old  man's  trembling  hands  are  laid 
Crown-like,  on  his  curly  head. 

A  Picture  beautiful  to  see  ! 

How  Age  and  Infancy  agree 

In  loving,  prattling  sympathy  ! 
While  down  the  snow-white  blossoms  fall 

Brightly,  softly  as  they  can, 
Like  blessings  dropped  by  the  Father  of  All 

On  the  Winter  and  Spring  of  Man. 


THE     HERO'S    GRAVE. 


0  LIGHTLY,  tread  lightly,  't  is  holy  ground 
Where  the  corse  of  the  Hero  is  resting : 

There's  a  charm  on  the  mind  and  a  spell  on  the 

mound, 
Like  a  halo  of  glory  investing. 

For  the  Spirit  that  kindled  the  eye  of  the  brave 
Lingers  still  at  the  spot  to  endear  it ; 

And  his  is  the  heart  of  a  coward  or  slave 
That  beats  not  more  gallantly  near  it. 

Ah  !  shed  not  your  tears  at  the  soldier's  lot, 
When  he  dies  where  his  country  calls  him, 

When  he  falls  ere  the  tire  of  the  foeman's  shot 
Or  the  terror  of  death  appalls  him.        ,    • 


THE      HERO'S      GRAVE. 

The  smoke  of  the  battle  may  melt  away, 
And  the  turf  of  the  valley  may  hide  him, 

His  form  in  its  braided  shroud  may  decay, 
And  his  good  saber  rust  beside  him  ; 


But  a  light  comes  forth  from  the  warrior's  grave 
Whilst  his  comrades  are  sorrowing  o'er  it,. 

A  beacon  of  hope  to  the  hearts  of  the  brave, 
And  oppressors  may  tremble  before  it. 

Then  lightly,  tread  lightly,  'tis  holy  ground 
Where  the  corse  of  the  hero  is  resting, 

For  the  Spirit  of  Liberty  hallows  the  mound, 
With  a  halo  of  glory  investing! 


DEATH    OF    GENERAL    LEE. 


"  In  the  delirium  caused  by  the  fever,  the  last  words  that  General 
Lee  was  heard  to  Bay  were,  '  Stand  by  me,  my  brave  Gr.jnadiers.'  " — 
Life  of  General  Charles  Lee,  b'j  Jared  Sparks,  page  COO. 


No,  no,  I  am  not  dying  ! 

I  need  no  priestly  cares  ; 
Away,  away  1 
I  will  not  stay  ! 

I  '11  join  my  grenadiers  ! 

Hark  to  the  booming  cannon  ! 

'T  is  music  in  my  ears  ; 
See  !  from  this  mound, 
That  battle-ground — 

And  these — mv  grenadiers. 


DEATH     OF     GENERAL     LEE.  223 

Yon  bristling,  shining  column  ! — 
What  martial  fire  it  stirs  ! 

By  dint  and  brunt 

We  '11  break  its  front  ; 
Ready  !  my  grenadiers  ! 

Charge  on  them  now  like  meteors 
Shot  swiftly  from  their  spheres  ! 

Hurrah  !   't  is  done, 

The  point  is  won  ; 
Hurrah  !    my  grenadiers  1 

Those  right-hand  guns  are  silent  1 
The  wind  of  fortune  veers  ; 
Beat,  beat  the  drums  ! 
A  rescue  comes  ! 
Lee  with  his  grenadiers  ! 

Down  with  the  British  bullies  ! 
Down  with  the  Hessian  curs  ! 
Follow  me,  all ! 
I  'm  shot  !  I  fall— 
On  !  on  !  my  grenadiers  ! 


224  DEATH      OF     GENERAL     LEE. 

Right  on  through  smoke  and  carnage 
Nor  let  him  flinch  who  hears 
The  crush  of  bones, 
Like  clashing  stones  ; 
Eight  on  !  my  grenadiers  ! 

Have  ye  not  won  the  battle  ? 
Then  give  your  deafening  cheers  ! 
And  should  I  die, 
Stand  cheering  by, 
My  gallant  grenadiers  ! 

What  means  this  wail  of  women  ? 
What  mean  these  sobs  and  tears  ? 

How  cold  it  blows ! 

How  dark  it  grows  ! 
Stand  by  me,  grenadiers  ! 


BEFORE  AND  AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 


Is  it  the  frost  that  glitters  so  white  ? 

Is  it  the  wind  in  yonder  glen  ? 
No  !    no  !    they  are  tents  in  the  early  light, 

And  that  is  the  marshaling  sound  of  men. 
Bright  over  armies  the  morning  shines, 

Shining  as  o'er  a  ruffled  lake  ; 
Dark  lie  the  cannon  along  the  lines, 

Like  hurricane  clouds  before  they  break. 
Over  the  hill  and  over  the  valley, 
Wildly  the  buglemen  call  to  the  rally  ! 
Float — banners  !  float — bright  as  the  sunset ; 
Blow,  bugles  !    blow — blow  for  the  onset  ! 

Is  it  a  ruin,  old  and  gray, 

That  glimmers  in  dusky  twilight  so  ? 
10* 


226   BEFOKE  AND  AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 

A  ruin  whose  walls  arid  people  lay 

Mingled  together  in  dust  below — 
O'er  which  a  moon  of  lurid  red 

Wanders,  in  smoky  vapor  lost — 
No  !   no  !   'tis  the  shadowy  field  of  the  dead, 

And  the  wreck  of  a  broken  host. 
Over  the  hill  and  over  the  valley, 
Ne'er  shall  the  buglemen  call  to  the  rally  ! 
Droop,  banners  !    droop — droop  like  the  willow  ; 
Weep,  Angels  !    weep  o'er  the  soldier's  pillow  ! 


HOPE     IN     WINTER. 


As  those  who,  wintering  in  the  Arctic  seas, 
Look  round  them  vainly  for  the  cheering  sun. 
Gone  but  not  lost  behind  their  Southern  hills, 
And  in  the  gleaming  snows,  Auroral  lights 
And  coruscations  of  the  cloudless  sky, 
Discern  memorials  of  the  living  fire 
Of  Heaven — and  prophecies  of  its  return  : 
So  we,  in  thankfulness  and  patient  hope, 
Standing  mid  Winter's  melancholy  waste, 
The  unurned  ashes  of  the  year,  have  glimpse 
Of  blessings,  beauties,  glories  which  have  been 
And  are  again  to  be. 

How  dark  and  cold, 
How  desolate  and  foreboding  are  the  forms 


228  HOPE      IN       WINTER. 

Which  Winter's  touch  impresses  on  the  world  ! 

The  stately  trees,  a  troop  of  skeletons, 

Tower  in  the  gloom  and  wave  their  naked  arms 

Conrplainingly  to  the  sky.     With  tinkling  sound. 

The  ghostly  echo  of  its  summer  laugh, 

The  brook  goes  stealing  through  its  frosted  banks, 

Or,  chilled  by  north-wind  kisses  to  repose, 

Lies  white  and  silent  as  a  water-nymph 

Outstretched,  and  in  the  moonlight  fallen  asleep. 


All  things  bear  token  of  decay  or  death, 

As  if  our  world  receded  from  the  sun, 

And  from  the  lambent  spheres  of  life  and  love, 

Into  the  fathomless  and  frozen  void  ; 

And  might,  perchance,  become  a  wandering  orb 

Sprung  tangent  from  its  bright  primeval  path  : 

A  chaos  habited  by  glimmering  shapes, 

Where    fire    had    lost    its    heat,    and    light    was 

shade, 

Where  sounds  were  echoes  only,  and  the  souls 
Of  living    men   were   ghosts — and   thoughts   were 

dreams — 
And  Life  a  Picture  that  but  seemed  to  live. 


HOPE      IN       WINTER.  229 

But  lo  !    at  signal  given  by  Him,  to  whom 
The  axial  lines  round  which  the  stars  revolve 
Are  merely  threads,  His  mighty  hand  has  woven 
Into  the  frame  of  Natui'e — lo  !    it  turns, 
And  like  the  homeward-bending  prodigal, 
It  nears  the  radiant  palace  of  the  sun, 
To  be  re-welcomed  with  paternal  kiss, 
Re-clad  in  gold  and  purple,  re-illumed 
With  light,  and  love,  and  joy  ! 


Who  ever  sat 

Contemplating  on  solitary  hills 
Beneath  a  canopy  of  cold,  gray  cloud, 
Mantled  'gainst  Northern  winds,  and  never  felt 
The  holy  presence  of  invisible  powers, 
Nor  could  distinguish  with  attentive  ear 
Voices  on  either  hand  ?     From  deep  ravines, 
Fainter  than  rustling  of  their  own  dry  leaves, 
Come  the  last  quavers  of  the  harvest  song, 
Which  Autumn  reapers  sang  amid  their  fields 
Golden  with  sunlight — while  from  greenest  meads 
And  azure  vistas,  shadowy,  remote, 
The  fairy  bugle  of  the  frolic  Spring, 


230  HOPE      IN       WINTER. 

Calling  the  bright-eyed  flowers  around  her  feet, 
Echoes  like  water  rippling  in  a  dream. 

Thus  oscillates  the  mighty  weight  of  Time 
Forwards  and  backwards  on  our  human  hearts, 
Counting  our  lives  out  with  its  solemn  beat, 
A  pendulum  of  Memory  and  Hope. 


THE     GRAVEYARD. 


THE  waning  light  of  Summer  day 
Still  lingers  on  the  verdant  ground, 

As  loth  to  draw  its  beam  away 

From  graven  stone  and  grassy  mound. 

No  voice  of  living  Nature  grieves 
For  those  who  now  for  ever  rest, 

Nought  but  a  sigh  of  rustling  leaves, 
As  soft  as  sigh  from  human  breast. 

Here  let  our  willing  feet  remain, 
Nor  all  the  busy  world  regret, 

Whilst  we  enjoy  that  hour  again 

Which  all  have  known  and  all  forget  ; 


232  THE      GRAVEYARD. 

That  hour  when  those  we  call  the  Dead 
Come  to  our  hearts  from  other  spheres, 

And  calm  delight  and  solace  shed 

Too  deep  for  words,  too  pure  for  tears. 

Who  can  bewail  this  mortal  state, 
Or  question  Heaven,  or  curse  our  lot, 

Or  e'en  lament  our  transient  date, 
In  Nature's  sweetest,  humblest  spot  ? 

Does  not  an  inward  teacher  say 

That  Death  has  stored  no  trophies  here? 

For  angel  hands  have  rolled  away 
The  stone  from  every  sepulcher. 

They  all  have  risen  !      These  buried  bones 
Of  dust  were  wrought,  to  dust  are  given  ; 

The  names  upon  these  sculptured  stones, 
Are  names  of  those  who  live  in  Heaven. 

The  grandsire  from  his  honored  bier 
Arose  to  share  immortal  youth, 

With  kindred  souls  from  every  sphere, 
Who  lived  for  Goodness  and  for  Truth. 


THE       GRAVEYARD.  233 

The  beauteous  child.,  by  gentle  powers, 

Was  disentangled  from  his  clay, 
And  borne  to  grow  in  heavenly  bowers, 

To  perfect  form  in  perfect  day. 

Wife,  husband,  children  met  again, 

And  in  the  glow  of  mutual  love 
Found  all  their  lives,  except  the  pain, 

Restored,  renewed    and  blest  above. 

And  knew  ye  of  a  constant  pair 

Whose  separation  Fate  decreed, 
Whose  fruitless  loves  were  writ  in  air, 

Whose  constant  hearts  were  made  to  bleed  ? 

Beyond  this  realm  of  hopes  and  dreams, 

Beneath  a  happier,  brighter  sun, 
Their  Spirits,  like  two  radiant  streams, 

Approached  and  mingled  into  one. 

Of  all  the  erring,  base,  or  proud, 
If  one  in  this  fair  spot  there  lies, 

Shall  we  presume,  to  pierce  the  cloud 
Which  veils  his  future  destinies  ? 


234  THE      GRAVEYARD. 

Ah  !   no — we  never  can  foretell 
What  fates  to  sinful  men  befall, 

But  this  we  know,  and  feel  it  well, 
Our  Father  made  and  loves  them  all  ! 

With  spirits  strengthen'd  by  the  Past, 
To  future  life  we  meekly  turn, 

While  golden  clouds  are  paling  fast, 
And  evening  weeps  at  sunset's  urn. 


NEW     THANATOPSIS. 


BENEATH  the  glory  of  a  brighter  Sun 

Than  that  which  keeps  this  moving  globe  of  earth 

True  to  its  orbit,  and  with  vision  born 

Of  spiritual  life  and  wisdom  given  of  God, 

I  sought  for  Death  throughout  the  Universe, 

o  07 

If  haply  I  might  note  the  dreaded  Being 
Who  casts  such  shadows  on  the  human  heart 
And  breaks  with  his  discordant  string,  abrupt, 
The  harmonies  of  Nature.     But  in  vain 
I  scanned  the  range  of  being  infinite, 
From  God  to  angels  and  through  men  to  earth, 
To  beast,  bird,  serpent,  and  the  ocean  tribes, 
To  worms,  and  flowers,  and  the  atomic  forms 
Of  crystalline  creations.     Change  had  been, 


236  NEW      THANATOPSIS. 

Perpetual  evolution  and  fresh  life, 
And  metamorphoses  to  higher  states, 
An  orderly  progress,  like  the  building  up 
Of  pyramids  from  earth's  material  base 
Into  the  fields  of  sunlight — but  no  Death. 

With  deep  solemnity  akin  to  fear 

I  pondered  o'er  the  elemental  world, 

That  seeming  chaos — but  its  bosom  held 

Nought  but  the  embryonic  forms  of  Life. 

Nor  did  the  ideal  basis  of  all  things, 

To  the  keen  sense  of  spirit,  elude  pursuit 

In  chemic  transformations.     Then  I  read 

The  geologic  leaves  of  stone  sublime 

And  spiritual  mysteries  of  primal  date, 

Immortal  book  in  an  immortal  tongue, 

Decipherable  only  by  the  light 

Of  a  new  revelation.     Next  I  looked 

Into  the  dark  mausoleums  of  the  Past, 

And  up  the  silent,  shadowy  stream  of  Time, 

Upon  whose  banks  nations  and  men,  like  leaves, 

Lie  withered.     And  I  turned  the  teeming  soil 

Of  all  the  battle-fields  of  every  age  ; 

Peered  into  charnels,  tracked  the  desolate  paths 


NEW      THANATOPSIS  237 

Of  plague  and  famine,  and  surveyed  with  awe 

The  secrets  of  the  sea — but  saw  no  Death. 

To  Spirits,  the  veil  of  whose  material  temple 

Is  rent  in  twain,  and  who  are  capable 

Of  purer  thought  and  elemental  life, 

His  name  and  nature  were  alike  unknown. 

Throughout  the  choral  harmony  of  things, 

And  all  the  vast  economy  of  God, 

He  had  no  place  or  office — He  was  not. 

Then  as  the  Sun  distills  vitality 

Into  the  plastic  fibers  of  the  flower, 

I  felt  the  influx  of  creative  Light, 

Which  is  the  heaven-sent  wisdom  of  the  mind, 

And  saw  by  intuitions  not  my  own 

The  rays  of  Truth  illumine  what  was  dark, 

And  brighten  what  was  sad  before.     I  learned 

That  God  alone  is  Life,  and  all  our  life 

From  him  derived,  and  what  we  fancy  Death 

But  the  negation  of  his  sacred  gift, 

As  cold  of  heat,  and  darkness  is  of  light. 

Insensate  matter  is  the  base  of  all, 

The  footstool  of  our  life,  the  supple  mold 

Through  which  the  living  currents  come  and  go. 


238  NEW      THANATOPSIS. 

This  body  is  the  garment  of  the  Soul, 

The  coarse,  material  outbirth  of  its  life, 

Its  medium  for  a  time,  the  shell  which  keeps 

Within  its  curves  the  music  of  the  sea, 

The  word  expressive  of  the  hidden  thought, 

A  wondrous  thing  !  which  seems  to  live  but  does  not, 

For  nothing  lives  but  God,  and  we  in  Him. 

The  Spirit  is  a  substance,  a  pure  form 
Of  immaterial  tissue,  finely  wrought 
Into  the  human  shape,  unseen  in  this 
Our  physical  existence,  but  the  cause 
Of  all  its  motions,  and  its  very  life. 
When  ripened  for  a  more  exalted  sphere, 
The  soul  exuves  this  earthly  envelope, 
And  leaves  the  atoms  of  its  chemic  dross 
For  worms,  or  weeds,  or  flowers  to  habit  in, 
While  it  withdraws  to  more  august  abodes, 
And  wakes  to  consciousness  of  deeper  Life. 

The  Human  Form  receives  its  gift  divine 
In  three  degrees,  distinct  and  yet  united  ; 
The  Angel  lives  potential  in  the  Spirit, 
And  both  are  grafted  in  the  Natural  Man, 


NEW      THANATOTSIS.  239 

As  creatures  of  rare  beauty  lie  encased 

In  the  poor  figure  of  an  humble  worm. 

We  move  awhile  in  this  material  sphere 

And  form  the  basis  of  our  higher  life — 

Celestial  superstructure.     God  withdraws, 

At  his  own  time,  the  breath  of  his  support 

From  this,  the  lowest  phasis  of  our  being, 

Arid  then  we  seem  to  die  ;  but  while  our  friends 

In  grief  and  mental  blindness  mourn  our  loss, 

We  have  ascended  to  serener  heights 

And  found  a  fuller  and  more  blissful  life, 

Happier  beyond  comparison  than  those 

Who  pass  in  joy  from  hovels  all  forlorn 

To  palaces  imperial. 

None  have  died 

From  earth's  first  revolution  to  the  present : 
But  all  are  living  in  congenial  spheres, 
And  in  eternal  progress,  in  the  realms 
Of  spiritual  existence.     All  is  Life — 
Earth  has  indeed  no  monuments  of  death, 
But  only  vestiges  of  those  who  passed 
From  this  hereditary  vale  of  shadows, 
The  echoes  of  their  voices  and  the  prints 


240  NEW      THANATOPSIS. 

Left  by  the  travelers  on  the  sands  of  Time. 
In  gloom  and  darkness  does  the  Poet  sing 
Who  calls  this  earth  the  mighty  tomb  of  man. 
'T  is  but  his  temporary  habitation, 
Along  whose  walls  and  silent  corridors, 
When  he  departs  to  more  sublime  abodes, 
He  leaves  some  trivial  traces  of  himself. 
The  grave  has  nothing  it  can  render  back  ; 
We  do  not  pass  from  nature  to  the  grave, 
But  Nature  is  our  grave,  from  which  we  mount 
At  seeming  death,  our  real  resurrection, 
Into  the  blest  empyrean.     And  the  tomb, 
With  all  its  grief,  and  tenderness,  and  shadow, 
Is  the  creation  of  our  sluggish  minds, 
By  kindly  memories  and  sweet  suggestions, 
To  cherish  and  prolong  the  names  of  friends, 
Gone,  but  not  lost,  unseen,  but  nearer  still 
In  beauty  and  in  glory  to  our  life, 
Which  lies  embedded  in  this  natural  form 
Like  jewel  in  its  casket. 

"  Whence,"  I  cried, 

Questioning  in  pain  my  more  interior  mind, 
"  Whence  then  the  darkness  and  the  apprehension, 


NEW      THANATOPSIS.  241 

The  doubt,  the  gloom,  the  fear,  the  agony 

Of  natural  dissolution,  which  but  breaks 

The  spell  of  evil  and  reveals  to  us     \ 

The  inner  splendors  of  the  universe  ? 

Why  should  immortal  man,  the  image  of  God, 

Shrink    from    the    Jordan's    pure    and    luminous 

wave, 

Whose  easy  passage  leads  him  in  all  joy 
From  desert  wilds  to  loved  Jerusalem  ?" 

Then  rose  a  Picture  representative 
(The  spiritual  mode  of  teaching)  to  my  eye. 
O'er  the  wide  world  a  massive  shadow  hung, 
Blacker  than  winter  cloud,  or  lonely  torn 
In  mountain  gorges  blacker  e'en  than  night 
Witli  all  its  silence,  and  it  swayed  in  storm 
Athwart  the  sky  and  hid  the  glorious  sun. 
Darkness  lay  brooding  on  the  minds  of  men, 
And  through  the  mists  of  error  all  they  saw 
Was  hideous,  maimed,  distorted  and  deformed. 
Foul  exhalation  from  the  sinful  race, 
Did  Evil  thus  shut  out  the  Life  of  God, 
And  the  poor  victims  in  the  fearful  gloom 

Groaned  for  a  quick  deliv'rance.     While  I  looked, 
11 


242  NEW      THANATOPSIS. 

And  grieved  and  wondered  whence  could  come  the 

Power 

To  rend  and  dissipate  so  thick  a  night, 
The  mighty  shadows  slowly  paled  away 
Like  loose-woven  clouds  dissolving  into  air  ; 
They  paled  away,  nor  left  a  trace  behind  ; 
They  paled  away,  and  in  their  stead  came  Light 
As  of  a  million  suns  in  unison, 
Instinct  with  wondrous  motions  like  a  sea 
Of  golden  ether,  without  shore  or  bottom, 
A  luminous  abyss.     It  represented 
To  my  touched  heart  the  Infinite  Love  of  God, 
Which  is  the  Life  of  the  whole  universe  : 
At  which  supernal  vision  I  was  bowed 
In  awe  and  peace  and  reverential  joy. 


L'ENVOI. 


Go  forth,  my  little  Verses  !    to  the  world. 

On  loving  errand  of  benignant  use  : 

Like  bees  which  gather  up  the  hearts  of  flowers, 

Like  flowers   which   shed   their  fragrance   on   the 

winds, 

Like  winds  which  bring  with  them  the  fleecy  clouds, 
Like  clouds  which  are  the  quivers  of  the  light, 
Like  rays  of  light  new  falling  from  the  sun, 
The  children  and  the  prophecies  of  heaven. 
Go  forth  like  these,  0  Verses  !    to  the  world, 
And  if,  like  these,  ye  glad  some  human  heart, 
And  breathe  into  some  bright  expectant  soul 
A  sense  of  beauty,  or  a  thought  of  love 
Which  was  not  there  before,  I  am  content, 
And  shall  receive  more  pleasure  than  I  give. 


IVY     CLIFF. 


A    POEM. 


IVY     CLIFF. 


How  bright  to  Memory's  reverted  eyes 

Thy  happy  scenes,  0  Ivy  Cliff !    arise. 

0  Ivy  Cliff !    serene  and  beauteous  spot, 

Remembered  when  all  others  are  forgot, 

Not  as  thou  art  do  I  survey  thee  now, 

The  magic  rose-light  faded  from  thy  brow, 

Music  no  longer  echoing  in  thy  glen, 

(The  pearls  of  childhood  are  but  stones  to  men,) 

But  as  thou  wert  in  life's  delightful  morn, 

When  from  thy  side  I  heard  the  fairy's  horn  ; 

And   dreamed    that   dream   which   once   to   all   is 

given, 
Of  Jacob's  ladder  reaching  into  heaven. 


248  IVY      CLIFF. 

A  beetling  bluff,  with  ivy  overgrown, 
Chos'n  from  its  sister-hills  and  loved  alone, 
Dew-crowned  at  morning  lured  my  step  away, 
With  noontide  calm  solicited  my  stay, 
With  evening  beauties  made  me  linger  still 
Till  purple  twilight  darkened  all  the  hill  ; 
Its  mantled  front  with  brownest  shade  replete, 
A  voiceless  river  winding  at  its  feet. 
Pent  up  by  hills  in  ever-during  thrall, 
The  deep,  dark  water  scarcely  moved  at  all, 
But,  uncomplaining  of  its  rocky  chain, 
Lay  like  a  Titan,  silent  in  his  pain. 

The  rugged  sides  of  Ivy  Cliff  were  hung 

With  waving  branches,  ever  green  and  young, 

A  sylvan  labyrinth  of  light  and  shade 

By  clambering  vines  and  blended  bushes  made  ; 

A  living  wall  of  vegetable  birth  ; 

A  shining  vesture  o'er  the  granite  earth. 

When    the    flowers    perished    and    the    waters 

froze, 

Throughout  the  melancholy  waste  of  snows, 
Sweetly  it  beamed  upon  the  gladdened  eye, 
Emblem  of  Hope  and  Truth  which  never  die. 


IVY      CLIFF.  249 

Near  the  bold  summit  burst  a  spring  to  view 
Colder  than  night  and  brighter  than  its  dew. 
Briefly  through  moss  the  little  rivulet  ran 
Bound,  like  an  infant-life,  to  narrow  span, 
Fell  o'er  the  rocks,  with  transitory  gleam, 
And  perished  weeping  in  the  larger  stream. 
It  seemed  to  me  the  Spirit  of  the  Hill 
Voiced  and  embodied  as  a  flowing  rill, 
Whispering  to  unseen  listeners  of  its  own 
Sorrows  and  joys,  alike  to  us  unknown ; 
For    sometimes    it    would    strangely    change    its 

sound 

When  not  a  leaf  or  wave  was  moving  round. 
When  wintry  voices  echoed  wailing  by, 
And  every  breeze  was  Nature's  winged  sigh, 
The  brook  would  sing  upon  its  joyous  way 
Like  bright-eyed  boy  upon  a  holiday. 
Again  when  Summer  had  reclad  the  earth, 
And  all  the  air  was  redolent  with  mirth, 
With  hum  of  bees  and  wings  of  butterflies, 
With  lay  of  birds  and  airy  symphonies, 
The  brook,  with  feeble  murmur  of  its  fall, 
Sent  alien  sounds  of  sadness  o'er  them  all  ! 


250  IVY      CLIFF. 

0  !    sweet  it  was  on  early  Summer  morn 

From  Ivy  Cliff  to  hear  the  hunter's  horn, 

With  skillful  quaver  all  the  forest  fill, 

Ere  yet  the  Sun  had  kissed  the  eastern  hill, 

Burst  on  the  air  of  dewy  solitudes 

And  break  the  stillness  of  the  dreaming  woods, 

Then  die  away  in  distance  from  the  ear 

Where  none  but  hare  or  startled  fox  could  hear  ; 

And  when  the  sun,  o'er  boundless  field  of  light, 

Rolling  his  chariot  to  triumphal  height, 

Shot  down  the  valleys  many  a  piercing  ray, 

And  broke  the  rolls  of  silver  mist  away, 

The  passing  boatman  gave  his  wild  halloo, 

The  startled  hawk  returned  it  as  he  flew, 

The  wood  subdued  it  to  a  lengthened  moan, 

And  Echo  murmured  from  her  couch  of  stone. 

There  had  my  boyhood  chosen — who  has  not  ? 
For  lonelier  hours  a  sweet  and  silent  spot, 
From  all  the  tumult  of  the  world  remote, 
Where   I   could   steal   when   none   would   care   <r 

note  ; 

Like  a  lone  cloud  which  softly  breaks  away 
From  all  the  dark  tempestuous  array, 


IVY      CLIFF.  251 

And  floats  far  oil'  in  sunny  joy  to  lie 
O'er  sleeping  seas  in  fields  of  azure  sky. 

On  Ivy  Cliff  beneath  the  kindly  shade, 

When  heaven  was  bright  and  all  the  winds  were 

laid, 

With  summer  beauty  glowing  all  around, 
With  rural  ease  and  quietness  profound, 
With  purple  mountains  fading  into  blue, 
And  Otter's  ever-radiant  peaks  in  view  ; 
With  all  we  wish  in  water,  earth,  or  sky, 
To  please  the  mind  and  to  delight  the  eye  ; 
I  read  and  loved  the  bards  of  former  age, 
Milton's  great  song  and  Spencer's  sweetest  page. 
Nor  did  I  care  though  warblers  in  the  green 
Allured  me  sweetly  from  the  "  Fairy  Queen  ;" 
Nor  though  some  cloud-built  palace  won  mine  eyes 
From  the  bright  scenes  in  Adam's  paradise, 
The  soft  transition  was  with  joy  replete, 
The  soft  return  to  Poesy  as  sweet ; 
Mere  changes  in  the  notes,  which  all  belong 
To  one  great  choral  harmony  of  song. 
There  often  lost  in  reverie  would  I  lie, 
Till  the  last  gleams  were  fading  from  the  sky, 


252  IVY      CLIFF. 

Till  the  last  echo  of  Heaven's  gate  of  gold 
Closing  in  music  o'er  the  ether  rolled, 
Then  lingering  in  the  weird  and  waning  light, 
My  fancy  would  transform,  on  neighboring  height, 
The  dim-seen  branches  of  some  towering  tree 
To  giant  knight  of  Paynim  chivalry. 

Men,  books  and  nature  mold  the  growing  mind, 
And  each  a  deep  impression  leaves  behind 
Nor  Time,  nor  Circumstance  can  e'er  efface, 
Which  curious  eyes  in  after  years  may  trace. 
When  with  the  school  my  studious  hours  began, 
I  leaned  to  Nature  rather  than  to  man — 
And  still  I  turn  from  all  that  Man  has  wrought 
To  Nature  for  my  sweetest  hours  of  thought  : 
For  plastic  Nature's  busy  atoms  move 
Obedient  to  impulses  from  above  ; 
Thus  picturing  forth  the  mysteries  which  lie 
Beyond  the  range  of  our  material  eye  : 
A  speech  of  things,  not  words,  by  which  are  given 
Thoughts   and    emotions    which    have    come  from 

heaven  ; 

That  speech  whereby  since  solar  time  began 
The  unseen  Angels  have  conversed  with  man. 


IVY      CLIFF.  2.)3 

0  Ivy  Cliff !  with  robes  of  evergreen, 

With  many  a  Spring  and  many  a  Summer  scene, 

With  all  the  soft,  the  beautiful,  the  bright, 

In  subtlest  tissues  of  ethereal  light, 

Didst  thou  not  shed  upon  my  soul  a  power 

Unfelt  as  sunbeams  by  the  growing  flower, 

Feeding  in  secret  my  too  hopeful  heart 

With  the   great   thoughts  whose    hieroglyph  thou 

wert  ? 

And  thou,  Dark  Kiver  !  with  unchanging  form, 
Silent  and  strong  in  sunshine  or  in  storm, 
Locked  in  thy  hills,  like  prisoner  of  state, 
Didst  thou  not  make  me  braver  for  my  fate  ? 
0  Wizard  Wind  !    that  wanderest  unseen 
Athwart  the  hills  or  down  the  deep  ravine, 
With  every  note  of  gladness  or  of  grief 
Which  hails  the  bred  or  weeps  the  falling  leaf, 
Hast    thou    not    breathed   upon    my    lyre,    un 
known, 

When  all  believed  the  numbers  were  my  own  ? 
And  ye,  Beloved  Mountains  !    which  arise 
Silently  cleaving  the  eternal  skies, 
Ye  raised  my  Spirit  to  an  atmosphere 
Of  peace  and  beauty,  above  mortal  care  ; 


254  IVY      CLIFF. 

Ye  made  me  yearn  in  loftier  degree 
For  mental  than  for  natural  liberty, 
Aspire  to  climb  the  mountains  of  the  Mind, 
And  leave  the  laggards  of  the  age  behind  ; 
Stand  in  the  sunlight  on  the  mighty  brow, 
Nor  heed  the  pigmies  who  might  mock  below  ! 

When    draws    the    festal    month    of    Childhood 

near, 

"  The  merriest,  maddest  time  of  all  the  year," 
When  rosy  school-girls  count  the  hours  away, 
In  sweet  anticipation  of  the  day, 
The  willing  boys  their  little  labors  share, 
And  to  the  Cliff  in  eager  troop  repair, 
For  gay  festoons  of  graceful  evergreen 
To  deck  the  palace  of  the  May-day  Queen. 
Sad  havoc  make  the  busy  urchins  there, 
While  jocund  laughter  shakes  the  genial  air  ; 
Voices  and  echoes  leave  no  pause  between, 
And  the  glad  sunshine  animates  the  scene. 
Loud  crack  the  branches  as  the  best  are  culK-d, 
Till  every  hand  a  weighty  load  has  pulled. 
The  task  fulfilled,  they  all  relax  their  powers, 
Some  hie  to  play,  and  some  in  search  of  flowers, 


IVY      CLIFF.  255 

To  catch  the  heart's-ease  nodding  by  the  brook, 
Or  steal  the  violet  from  its  shaded  nook. 
Some  careless  loll  upon  the  shining  grass 
And  watch  the  clouds  and  shadows  as  they  pass ; 
While  some  heave  mighty  stones  adown  the  steep 
Into  the  sluggish  water  dark  and  deep, 
Admire  the  plunge  and  watch  the  circling  ray, 
And  hear  the  muffled  echoes  roll  away. 
The  birds  in  terror  shun  their  green  retreat, 
And  Silence  routed  flies  his  favorite  seat, 
Like  a  stern  eagle  winging  from  his  woods 
To  loneliest  tarn  in  mountain  solitudes. 
At  length  accloyed  with  pleasure's  sweet  excess, 
For  ah  !  our  hearts  can  tire  of  happiness  ! 
They  bear  their  treasures  to  the  busy  girls 
Chattering  mid  golden  locks  or  raven  curls  ; 
The  kind  assistance  smiling  lips  repay, 
And    bright    eyes    speak   what    lips   could    never 
say  ! 

But  ah  !    why  does  the  echo  of  my  lyre 
From  such  gay  theme  in  trembling  wail  expire  ? 
As  if  some  Sunbeam  on  my  life  had  shed 
Its  power,  and  left  a  Shadow  in  its  stead  ; 


256  IVY      CLIFF. 

As  if  some  Joy  from  out  my  heart  had  flown 

And  left  a  weeping  Memory  there  alone. 

Oh  yes  !  there  is  a  spot  for  sacred  tears, 

A  green,  green  mound  which  early  love  endears. 

Rainbows  would  arch  it  with  eternal  glow, 

And  Angels  guard  it — if  she  slept  below  ; 

But  jewel-crowned,  white-vestured,  harp  in  hand, 

She  has  arisen  into  the  Morning  Land. 

Before  her  eyes  supernal  glories  shine, 

As  radiant  as  she  made  the  world  to  mine  ; 

And  seraph  voices  in  that  realm  she  hears 

As  raptly  as  I  listened  once  to  hers. 

She  was  the  fairest  of  the  May-day  Quoens, 

And  I  the  happiest  in  those  woodland  scenes  ; 

O'er  fields  of  bleak  December  still  I  stray, 

All  radiant  she  in  her  eternal  May  ! 

Spring-times  and  Summers  of  the  rolling  year  ! 
Why  come  ye  back  with  your  prolific  cheer  ? 
Shadows  and  Memories  ye  can  e'er  restore, 
The  Joys,  the  Sunbeams,  ye  can  bring  no  more  ! 

0  Love  !  Young  Love  !  Thou  dear  Divinity  ! 
What  happy  worship  have  I  rendered  thee  ; 


IVY      CLIFF.  257 

What  hopes,  what  sighs,  what  dreams  I  can  recall, 
What  fears,  what  ecstasies  !  Thou  haclst  them  all ! 
Yet  was  devotion  with  such  bounty  paid, 
So  heavenly  sweet  was  ardent  service  made, 
No  vow  was  uttered  which  I  could  regret, 
No  pang  was  felt,  but  I  would  feel  it  yet. 

Thou,  Ivy  Cliff !   hast  witnessed  how  I  loved, 
And  with  responsive  tenderness  approved  ; 
For  Nature  to  the  Poet's  heart  reveals 
In  her  bright  forms  the  sympathy  she  feels. 
How   clear   the   young   birds    caroled    round    my 

seat, 

How  fresh  the  ivy  glistened  at  my  feet, 
How  soft  the  zephyrs  sighed  upon  the  air, 
How  sweet  the  ringdove's  cooing  murmur  there, 
How  beautiful  the  clouds,  as  if  they  wove 
Ethereal  palaces  for  dreaming  Love, 
Whilst  pensive  lay  the  shadowy  stream  below 
Touched  as  with  joy  by  evening's  purple  glow  ! 
Thus  didst  thou,  Nature  !    with  complying  art 
Echo  the  subtle  passion  of  my  heart, 
In  outward  forms  renew  my  joys  again, 
And  nurse  in  secret  my  delightful  pain. 


258  IVY      CLIFF. 

At  the  soft  close  of  cheerful  summer  day, 
When  golden  clouds  were  fading  into  gray, 
When  the  rich  purple  deepened  on  the  hill, 
And  the  dark  river  became  darker  still, 
Whilst  in  the  twilight's  azure  field  afar 
The  new  moon  hung  her  silver  scimitar, 
Oft  have  I  paused  on  Ivy  Cliff  to  hear 
A  homely  music  echoing  far  and  near  ; 
The  Negro  reapers,  singing  as  they  went, 
A  homeward  burst  of  native  merriment, 
Which  seemed  to  me  a  melancholy  strain, 
A  wild,  mixed  melody  of  joy  and  pain, 
Dying  in  sadness  on  the  distant  hill, 
Lost  in  the  call  of  lonely  whip-poor-will. 


The  painted  savage,  Ishmael  of  the  West, 
Insensate  once  this  glorious  soil  possessed  ; 
Untouched  by  all  the  loveliness  we  see, 
Unawed  by  Nature's  dread  sublimity. 
The  Kace  which  neither  fear  nor  pity  knew, 
No  arts  could  soften  and  no  arms  subdue, 
Fell  on  these  hunting  grounds,  a  stoic  prey, 
Or  roamed  to  wilder  hunting  grounds  away, 


IVY      CLIFF.  259 

Destined  at  last,  on  far  Pacific  shore, 
To  sink  from  Nature's  sunlight  evermore. 
But  the  poor  Negro,  of  a  gentler  mind, 
Obedient,  peaceful,  teachable  and  kind, 
Unfit  for  commerce  or  for  war's  alarms, 
Incapable  alike  of  arts  and  arms, 
Organically  slow  and  weak  and  mild, 
A  Childlike  Kace,  eternally  a  Child, 
Condemned  to  service  in  his  brother's  tent, 
Finds  in  that  service  his  true  element. 


From  golden  Africa's  barbaric  shore, 

Sold  by  his  kinsmen,  he  was  dragged  of  yore  ; 

A  naked,  trembling,  weeping  wretch  he  came, 

The  child  of  superstition,  blood  and  shame  : 

Kedeemed  forever  from  his  moral  night, 

To  useful  labors  gently  trained  aright, 

In  just  subordination,  wisely  led, 

Subservient  as  the  hand  is  to  the  head, 

With  thought  and  feeling  kindling  on  his  brow 

From  a  new  life  transfused,  behold  him  now  ! 

By  fall  provision  and  protection  here, 

By  justice,  mercy,  and  by  loving  care, 


260  IVY       CLIFF. 

By  the  great  light  which  civilization  spreads, 
And  by  the  blessings  which  Religion  sheds, 
We  give  him,  delving  in  the  sun  and  soil, 
A  fair  remuneration  for  his  toil. 
For  names  not  principles  let  fools  contend, 
We  see  the  methods,  Providence  the  end  : 
The  slave  may  be  a  freeman  in  his  chain, 
Bonds  may  be  broken  and  the  slave  remain  ; 
One  truth  is  clear  :     The  Good  alone  are  free, 
And  mutual  service  is  true  Liberty  ! 


One  of  those  slumbrous,  hazy  Autumn  eves, 
When  the  old  forest  dropt  his  crimson  leaves, 
Twirling  and  rustling  softly  to  the  ground 
With  a  remote  and  melancholy  sound, 
From  Ivy  Cliff  I  pensively  surveyed 
The  gradual  changes  which  decay  had  made. 
From  its  cold  fount  the  little  rivulet  wept, 
And  o'er  its  path  with  feeble  murmur  crept, 
Soon  to  be  hush'd  in  every  frozen  wave, 
Like  Moorish  statue  in  enchanted  cave, 
In  fixed  forgetfulness  or  silent  pain 
Until  the  Spring  dissolved  the  spell  again. 


IVY      CLIFF.  261 

On  the  chill  air  broke  forth  a  joyful  breeze, 
Last  relic  of  the  Summer  symphonies, 
But  was  death-stricken  to  a  pause— and  then. 
Ghost  of  itself,  went  wailing  down  the  glen. 
There  as  I  mused,  a  sweet  and  subtle  Power 
Smote    on    my    heart,    like    sunbeams    on    the 

flower ; 

As  if  some  Spirit  which  had  been  a-glow 
In  Spring  or  Summer  had  refused  to  go 
To  the  embrace  of  Winter,  drear  and  cold, 
And  passed  into  a  heart  of  human  mold. 
Straightway  I  sighed  with  an  ambitious  hope 
To  draw  from  Nature's  great  kaleidoscope 
Some   form    of    thought    which    would    not    SOOL 

expire, 

Some  living  note  to  vibrate  from  my  lyre, 
And  waft  away  o'er  hearts  and  homes  afar 
The  light,  the  love,  the  blessing  of  a  star. 
Thus  from  the  wreck  the  seasons  leave  behind 
We  may  distill  new  vigor  of  the  mind  ; 
As  strength  is  born  of  melancholy  hours, 
Or  sweetest  odors  come  from  wounded  flowers, 
As  Hope  relumes  the  ashes  of  Despair, 
Or  violets  starting  from  our  graves  appear. 


262  IVY      CLIFF. 

When  Ivy  Cliff  was  mantled  all  in  snow, 

And  frolic  skaters  on  the  stream  below 

Sent  jovial  voices  on  the  Northern  breeze, 

And  tinkling  echoes  whistling  through  the  trees, 

On  the  bleak  hill  I  paid  iny  last  adieu 

To  scenes  the  dearest  which  my  childhood  knew. 

A  \vondrous  city  in  the  West  appeared, 

On  hills  of  amber  and  of  pearl  upreared  ; 

Commingling  shone  its  palaces  afar, 

Each  dome  a  sun,  each  pointing  spire  a  star  ; 

Glowing  it  stretched  beyond  the  visual  powers, 

And  sapphire  canopy  o'erhung  its  towers. 

When  lo  !  as  softly  as  a  breaking  dream, 

Or  bright  reflection  wavering  in  a  stream, 

They  parted,  spires,  domes,  towers  and  turrets  all, 

Like  a  great  realm  dissolving  to  its  fall  ; 

The  splendid  fragments  faded  on  the  wind, 

Nor  left  to  night  one  radiant  trace  behind. 

When  from  the  scene  my  tardy  footstep  turned. 

A  new  ambition  in  my  spirit  burned — 

To  do  some  deed  according  to  my  power, 

If  Heaven  would  give  the  means  and  send  the  hour, 


IVY      CLIFF.  263 

Which  in  the  lapse  of  Time  should  bear  its  part 
T'  illume  the  mind  and  cheer  the  human  heart. 
Majestic  rivers  gliding  to  their  goal 
Give  life  and  wealth  to  nations  as  they  roll, 
The  humblest  flower  that  e'er  exhales  the  dew 
Leaves  on  the  earth  its  little  blessing  too. 
Vain  are  the  labors  and  the  schemes  of  man 
Unless  accordant  with  the  Eternal  Plan  ; 
Uncheered  by  light  from  brighter  sun  than  ours 
We  waste  our  thoughts,  we  desecrate  our  powers. 
In  works  of  mind  and  in  affairs  of  state 
They  are  serenely  wise  and  truly  great, 
And  they  alone,  who  bring  us  from  above, 
Some  ray  of  Truth,  some  spark  of  heavenly  Love. 


A  G  A  T  H  E. 


A    TRAGEDY    IS    T1V  0    ACTS. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 


LYCANDER A  Grecian  King,  just  returned  from  Troy. 

THERON A  Military  Attendant. 

CHRESTUS Friend  of  Theron,  Guardian  of  Elpenor  and  Agalhe. 

ELPEXOR Nephew  to  Lycander — and  the  rightful  King. 

AGATHE Priestess  of  Diana's  Temple  and  Sister  to  Elpenor. 


ACT    I. 

SCENE     I. 
A  PRIVATE  GARDEN. — CHRESTUS  AND  THERON. 


CHKESTUS. 

So  happy  have  I  been,  beloved  Theron  ! 
In  the  repeated  welcomes  of  my  heart 
To  thee  and  all,  that  for  this-  one  bright  hour, 
Sole  one  for  many  years  !  I  have  forgotten 
The  mighty  shadow  gathering  o'er  our  lives, 
And  the  dread  secret  which  we  two  have  kept 
So  long  in  pain,  unshared.     How  fares  the  King  ? 

THEROX. 

As  such  a  man  should  fare  :  his  visions  haunt  him 
With  ten-fold  power.     At  first  he  was  but  sad 
And  spent  whole  days  in  moping  reverie, 
Losing  all  sense  of  pleasure  in  the  chase, 


268  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

In  music,  feasting,  or  the  poinp  of  state, 

In  man  or  soothing  woman.     This  had  happened 

Before  we  parted.     Then  came  fearful  dreams, 

And  sudden,  terrible  wakings  in  the  night, 

Which  made  his  eye  grow  wild  and  his  face  pale 

And  stern  and  haggard  ;  afterwards  appeared 

Mysterious  visions,  phantasies,  no  doubt, 

Of  a  mind  conscience-stricken  and  appalled 

By  the  foreshado wings  of  its  doom  ;  at  last 

The  unsubstantial  images  of  thought 

Took  form  and  shape  as  palpable  to  sense 

As  things  of  earth.     With  e'er-increasing  power, 

Exciting  fear  sometimes  almost  to  agony, 

They  broke  upon  his  revels  and  his  sleep, 

Peopled  his  tent  and  dogged  his  chariot  wheels. 

CIIRESTUS. 

Do  these  illusions  ever  intimate, 
By  special  uniformity  of  type, 
The  nature  of  his  guilt  ? 

THERON. 

He  never  tells 

By  words  explicit  what  he  hears  or  sees  ; 
But,  from  expressions  dropped  in  quick  surprise, 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  269 

Wild  exclamations  made  in  sudden  fear, 

And  nmtterings  when  he  thought  himself  alone, 

I  find  the  central  figure  of  the  group 

In  all  his  dreams  or  waking  phantasies 

Is  that  dead  brother,  whose  great  crown  he  wears, 

Unfortunate  Elpenor,  whom  he  pushed, 

One  hunting  day,  from  a  wild  precipice, 

And  made  the  world  believe,  except  us  two, 

It  was  an  accident. 

CHKESTUS. 

In  all  his  ravings 
Speaks  he  ever  of  the  children  ? 

THEBON. 

No,  never. 
He  thinks  them  dead. 

CHKESTUS. 

'T  is  well  indeed  he  does ! 
And  may  he  never  know  the  truth,  unless 
Some  sweet  compunction  of  relenting  nature 
Impel  his  soul  to  righteous  restitution. 
Yet  it  is  strange  the  secret,  dread  remembrance 
Of  murdered  innocence  should  not  oppress  him. 


270  A  U  A  T  H  E  . 

Is  crime  by  proxy  less  a  crime  than  that 

We  do  with  our  own  hands  ?     What's  to  be  done  ? 

THERON. 

He  has  dispatched  a  trusty  messenger 
To  Jupiter's  great  Oracle  of  Dodona, 
And  the  response  is  momently  expected. 

ClIRESTUS. 

I  have  no  faith  or  hope  that  any  answer, 
Or  sage  advice  or  solemn  prophecy, 
Can  ever  turn  his  footsteps  back  again 
To  the  old,  happy  path  he  has  deserted. 

THERON. 

Then,  Chrestus  !  what  is  left  but  revolution  ? 

All  hate  his  rule — yea,  even  fear  his  voice, 

And  scowl  upon  him  as  he  passes  by 

In  his  abstracted  moods.     None  dare  approach  him 

Or  seem  to  mark  him  when  the  fit  is  on. 

His  temper  has  become  morose  and  fierce, 

Fiery,  inconstant,  and  tyrannical. 

These  traits  were  serviceable  whilst  they  made  him 

Invincible  in  battle.     But  at  home, 

When  slaughtered  Trojans  can  not  give  his  spleen 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  271 

A  bloody  vent  and  calm  his  demon  rage, 
Wherever  he  shall  turn  his  baleful  eye 
Some  curse  or  sad  calamity  impends. 
I  fear  to  think  upon  the  state  of  things 
We  may  expect. 

CHKESTUS. 

0  Theron  !  when  the  Gods, 
In  dreadful  chastisement  of  human  sin, 
Have  pushed  their  victim  to  the  furthest  verge 
Of  madness,  men  in  righteous  self-defense 
May  consummate  the  sentence.     It  was  well 
This  dark-soul'd  fratricide  took  off  with  him 
The  turbulent  spirits  of  our  realm  to  Troy. 
He  served  the  common  cause  ;  he  was  the  tool 
Of  Grecian  glory,  leaving  us  at  home 
Ten  years  of  prosperous  peace.     Sweet  Agathe, 
Reared  in  the  temple  of  our  chaste  Diana, 
Unfolded  to  each  new  admiring  summer 
Her  pure  and  radiant  graces  for  our  joy, 
Herself  almost  a  Goddess.     Elpenor  grew 
Meanwhile  from  boyhood  to  that  golden  age 
When  life  and  hope  are  brightest.     If  Lycander 
Has  reached  the  limit  of  his  fatal  chain, 


272  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

'T  is  time  to  strike  ;  a  worthier  hand  is  ready 

To  grasp  the  scepter.     But  let  nothing  rash, 

No  vulgar  rage,  no  impulse  of  revenge, 

Stain  the  pure  power  and  virtuous  dignity 

Whereby  our  human  hands  co-work  with  heaven. 

Leave  him  alone  awhile,  for  if  I  read 

Aright  the  deep  philosophy  of  Fate 

His  hands  unconsciously  will  weave  the  web 

To  tangle  his  own  feet.     Go  through  the  city 

And  test  the  opinions  of  the  populace 

On  his  return.     Myself  will  seek  his  palace, 

And  see  which  way  the  wind  lies ;  if  it  promise 

Propitious  calm,  or  bode  such  coming  storm 

As  must  subside  in  human  wreck  and  woe. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE    II. 
TEMPLE    OF    DIANA. — AGATHE    ALONE. 


DKEAMS  which  escape  the  memory  may  leave 
Their  melancholy  traces  on  the  soul  ; 
Else  why  should  now  a  vague  presentiment 
Of  coming  evil  fall  upon  my  heart, 


A  G  A  T  H  E .  273 

Like  the  slow  shadow  of  a  pendent  cloud 

Upon  the  plain  beneath  ?     My  only  friends, 

The  dear  Elpenor  and  our  noble  Chrestus 

Are  well  and  happy.     The  common  heart  of  Greece 

Is  joyous  at  our  army's  safe  return, 

And  beauty  hastes  to  join  her  tender  rose 

To  the  majestic  laurel.     What  should  I  fear? 

Alas  !  no  sorrow  can  disturb  the  good : 

Cares  nestle  only  in  the  wicked  breast. 

0  chaste  Diana  !    whose  exalting  presence 

Is  brighter,  purer,  dearer  to  the  soul 

Than  thine  own  moon,  at  fullest,  to  the  world  ; 

Here  let  me  consecrate  myself  anew, 

Heart,  mind  and  body  to  thy  holy  service, 

And  so  escape  the  power  of  evil  thoughts  ! 

[Enter  ELPENOU. 
ELPENOK. 

Forever  wrapt  in  pious  meditation, 
Sweet  Agathe  !     Hast  thou  no  voice  of  praise 
For  deeds  heroic,  no  free  and  sunny  smile 
For  Grecian  triumph  ? 

AGATHE. 
Yes — for  Grecian  triumph, 

And  tears  for  Trojan  woes.     O  that  our  warriors 
12* 


274  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

Had  left  such  full  and  happy  homes  behind  them 
As  greet  them  here  ! 

ELPENOB. 

What  were  the  glory  then 

Without  the  charm  of  danger  ?     What  the  toil 
Of  war  without  the  bloodshed  of  our  foes  ? 
The  ten-year's  siege  is  over  ;   Troy  has  fallen  ; 
And  the  long  blaze  of  military  splendors 
Lives  only  now  in  song,  unparalleled 
By  aught  that  was  before  or  ever  shall  be. 
Alas  !    that  I  too  was  not  earlier  born  ! 
Oh  !    I  remember,  as  't  were  yesterday, 
That  glorious  morning  when  the  gay-decked  fleet 
Swung  at  loose  anchor  on  the  shining  bay. 
The   bright-plumed   warriors  rowed   toward    their 

ships 

With  music  and  the  stroke  of  thousand  oars 
In  thrilling  unison.     Their  glowing  armor, 
As  yet  undented  by  the  Trojan  steel, 
Flashed  in  the  sun.     Their  parting  shout  of  cheer 
Startled  the  echoes  of  the  wooded  hills. 
Thousands  were  crowded  on  the  curving  shore 
And  waved  their  last  adieu.     When  the  far  ships 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  275 

Stood  boldly  out  towards  the  fretful  sea, 
The  mighty  multitude  in  groups  retired  ; 
But  yet  I  lingered,  till  the  setting  sun 
Gleamed  faintly  from  the  last  receding  sail, 
And  dropped  my  tears  upon  the  yellow  beach 
That  I  was  not  a  soldier. 

AGATHE. 

Foolish  boy  ! 

Insensate  to  the  unrecorded  griefs 
Of  our  forlorn  humanity. 

ELPENOR. 

When  I 

Come  glorying  homeward  from  some  foreign  war, 

And  shouting  citizens  in  exultation 

Draw  me  triumphant  through  the  living  streets, 

My  Agathe  will  meet  me  with  a  tear, 

And  turn  her  gentle  eyes  away,  forsooth, 

Because  my  hands  were  gory. 

AGATHE. 

No  more  war  ! 

Is  not  the  earth  now  drunk  with  human  blood  ? 
Ah  !   turn  thy  face  upon  the  golden  grain 


276  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

Waving  continuous  from  field  to  field  ; 
On  pleasant  cottages  embowered  in  trees  ; 
On  herds  and  flocks,  and  children's  merry  play  ; 
On  rivulets  leaping  in  the  summer  sun 
Through  emerald  meadows  ;  on  the  social  gleam 
Of  towers  and  towns  along  the  winding  bay  : — 

ELPENOR. 

Hold,  hold — I  can  admire  thy  brilliant  pictures, 
But,  sweetest  Sister  !    sage  Philosophy, 
And  e'en  benign  Keligion,  sanction  war 
When  savage  men  conspire  against  our  rights 
And  break  our  peace. 

AGATHE. 

But  ah  !   the  time  approaches 
When  sated  Strife  shall  sheathe  his  crimson  steel, 
And  every  soul  partake  the  mutual  glow 
In  which  the  loving  sun  would  bind  us  all. 
Look  at  the  stars  upon  a  cloudless  night  ! 
Shining  they  move  in  circles  which  we  know  not, 
Making  eternal  music  as  they  go  : 
Undimmed  rnd  undisturbed,  countless  in  number, 
They  never  jostle  and  they  never  fade. 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  277 

In  such  array  shall  human  hearts  combine, 
And  in  the  order  and  the  peace  of  heaven 
Regenerate  the  earth. 

ELPEXOK. 

Fair  prophetess  ! 

If  our  old  heroes  could  but  hear  thy  song 
They  might  cast  off  their  mail  and  splendid  helms, 
And  hie  contented  to  some  mountain-side, 
To  play  the  Doric  reed  and  pasture  sheep. 

AGATHE. 

Thou  ever  turn'st  my  earnestness  to  sport. 

ELPENOR. 

Then,  not  to  sport — A  low,  portentous  cloud, 
Just  o'er  the  distant  hill-tops  swiftly  risen, 
Comes  darkening  on  apace.     Suspicion,  fear, 
And  discontent  are  lowering  on  the  brows 
Of  soldiery  and  people.     Some  affirm 
The  king  is  mad — • 

AGATHE. 
The  kinsr  is  mad  ?     Alas  ! 


278  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

ELPENOR. 

Dark  rumors  are  afloat  of  usurpation, 
Startling  the  city  into  wild  surprise, 
And  hurried  whispers — with  still  darker  hints 
Of  corning  revolution  ;  what  to  look  for 
Men  know  not. 

AGATDE. 

0  my  sad,  prophetic  heart ! 

ELPENOR. 

What  truth  is  in  it  all,  what  falsity, 
What    source    is    claimed,   what   issues    are    in 
volved, 

I  can  not  tell,  all — all  is  dark  as  yet. 
But  I  would  hold  my  spirit  well  prepared  ; 
And  so  I  come  with  offerings  to  our  Groddess, 
To  beg  her  favor  and  her  wise  protection, 
To  keep  my  heart  serene  amid  all  tumult, 
My  judgment  clear,  my  loyalty  to  truth, 
My  love  of  country  unimpeachable. 
I    would    not    draw    my    sword    but    for    true 

cause, 

And  having  drawn  it,  would  not  put  it  up 
Till  Mercy  bids  and  Justice  shall  approve. 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  279 

AGATHE. 

Bravely  and  wisely  spoken,  my  good  brother  ! 
Minerva  smiles  when  Mars  relenting  wreathes 
His  sword-hilt  with  the  gracious  olive  branch. 
Go  quickly  !  meet  me  at  the  sacred  altar  ; 
I  will  array  in  white  and  deck  with  flowers, 
And  we  will  offer  up  a  lamb,  in  token 
Of  our  pure  motives  and  the  peace  we  sigh  for. 

[Exit  ELPENOH. 

He  too  is  sad  !     Ah  !  now  I  understand 
The  melancholy  mood  which  came  o'er  me 
By  spiritual  contagion.     Far  apart 
Their  bodies  may  be,  but  the  souls  of  those 
Who  love  are  never  sundered.     I  remember 
One  summer  evening,  at  the  very  moment 
When  he  was  drowning  in  the  boiling  surf, 
(But  Chrestus  plucked  him  from  the  watery  grave), 
A  chill  of  terror  crept  into  my  heart, 
Far  in  the  secret  chambers  of  the  temple. 
The  King  is  mad  ;  the  people  discontented  ; 
Truly  the  shadow  deepens  ! 

[Exit. 


280  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 


SCENE     III. 

ROOM  IN  TUB  PALACE  OF  THE  KING. — LYCANDER  ALONE. 


LYCANDEB. 

I  ne'er  believed  that  things  impalpable 
Could  locate  like  the  fixtures  of  a  room, 
And  haunt  the  eye  with  their  continual  presence  ; 
Closed  or  unclosed  I  see  him.     I  have  tried 
Every  expedient  to  appease  this  fierce 
Offended  shade,  and  deprecate  his  wrath ; 
Have  offered  wine  and  fruits  upon  his  grave, 
And  a  whole  hecatomb  of  living  creatures. 
Prayers,  tears,  and  protestations  of  remorse 
Have  proved  alike  in  vain.     I  now  await 
The  issue  of  another  measure. 

[Knocking  is  heard.] 

Who  knocks  ? 

At  first  I  started  up  at  every  noise, 
Like  the  scared  wild  deer  in  his  leafy  lair  ; 
But  I  have  learned,  by  constant  observation, 
The  ghastly  images  which  haunt  my  steps 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  281 

Are  voiceless.     I  am  not  afraid  of  sounds. 
Come  in. 

[Enter  CHRESTUS. 
CHRESTUS. 

Great  King  !  thy  orders  are  obeyed. 

LTCANDER. 
Hast  thou  o'erturned  the  accursed  monument 

And    ploughed   the    ground    whereon   its  stones 

were  reared  ? 

Hast  thou  destroyed  the  great  ancestral  urn 
And  strewed  the  royal  ashes  on  the  sea  ? 

CHRESTUS. 

Thou  art  obeyed  ! 

LTCANDER. 

Thou  mock'st  me,  lying  Chrestus  ! 
The  monument  still  stands ;  the  urn  retains 
Its  untouched  treasure  in  the  old  repose. 
I  see  thou  askest  with  indignant  eyes 
Why  I  should  question  thy  veracity. 
The  spirits  of  the  dead  cling  to  the  spots 
Which  hold  their  ashes.     Move  but  these  away 
And  the  complying  shadows  follow.     This, 


282  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

Hadst  thou  obeyed  my  mandate  to  the  letter, 
This  nightmare  of  my  life,  like  some  poor  dream, 
Had  now  departed.     Look  into  that  corner  ! 

ClIRESTUS. 

Where  ?    What  ?    Unhappy  monarch  !  I  see  noth 
ing. 

LYCANDER. 

Dost  thou  not  see  that  wretched,  bleeding  man, 
Lying  nearly  prostrate  underneath  the  rock  ? 
His  body  writhes  in  mortal  agony, 
With  every  muscle  from  its  natural  line 
Protruded  and  contorted,  in  the  vain 
But  unremitting  struggle  to  arise. 
Canst  thou  riot  read  the  language  of  that  face, 
Fear,  torture,  mute  reproaches,  and  surprise  ? 
Ha  !    ha !       Too    well    thou   know'st   it   is    my 
brother ! 

CHRESTUS. 

Indeed  I  have  seen  nothing.     It  must  be 
Some  dreadful  picture  which  was  once  impressed 
Too  strongly  on  thy  memory,  and  comes 
Back  in  reverberation  of  the  light, 
Like  sounds  in  echo. 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  283 

LTCANDEK. 

Slave  !  wouldst  thou  reproach  me 
With  irrevocable  calamities  ? 
I  should  have  silenced  thee  in  time. 

[Knocking. 

What  now  ? 
What  other  spy  upon  my  misery  ? 

[Enter  THERON. 

Speak  briefly,  villain  !  hast  thou  come  to  join 
This  suborned  witness  in  his  perjury  ? 

THEKOK. 

I  simply  come  to  give  thee  the  response 
Of  the  great  Oracle  of  Jupiter 
In  this  sealed  package. 

LYCANDEB. 

Let  me  have  it  quickly : 

Grant    me,    ye    Gods  !    one    gleam    of   consola 
tion  ! 
Is  mystery  solved  by  mystery  ?     What  is  this  ? 

[Beads  aloud. 

"He  wlio  would  satisfy  the  injured  dead 
Must  put  the  crown  upon  the  living  head." 


284  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

The  living  head  ?  what 's  this  ?  what  living  head  ? 
Theron  and  Chrestus,  I  command  ye  here, 
Great  sages  that  ye  are,  to  read  me  promptly, 
On  pain  of  instant  death,  this  Jovian  riddle. 
What  living  head  is  this  of  which  he  speaks  ? 
How  !       Are    ye    silent  ?      Are    ye    struck    with 

dumbness 

In  punishment  of  some  great  treachery  ? 
Or  are  ye  pausing  to  concoct  a  sly 
And  sure  equivocation  ? 

THERON. 

0,  Lycander  ! 

The  children  thou  commanded'st  me  to  kill 
I  gave  to  Chrestus. 

CHRESTUS. 

And  I  spared  their  lives, 
Rearing  them  for  the  service  of  the  state, 
And  to  secure  thee  in  thy  last  distress, 
Unhappy  fratricide  !   a  hope  of  mercy 
By  a  late  restitution.     Thank  us  truly 
For  this  most  pious  fraud.     Why  dost  thou  glare, 
Gasping  for  breath  ? 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  285 

LYCANDER. 
Away  ! 

X 

THERON. 

Hear  me,  Lycander  ! 

LYCANDER. 

Nay,  traitors  !  not  a  word — now,  list  my  will  ! 
Bring  me  these  children  in  three  hours,  or  you 
And  they,  and  all  that  aid  you  or  abet, 

Shall  perish  by  the  sword  !     Quick,  from  my  sight ! 

[Exeunt  CHRESTUS  AND  THERON. 

They  live  !     Ah  !  now  I  clearly  see  the  cause 
Why  my  dead  brother  can  not  find  repose 
Beyond  the  ever  dark  and  silent  river. 
This  oracle  would  lead  me  to  my  ruin. 
Restore  the  crown  ?  such  weakness  leave  for  fools  ! 
I  will  dispatch  the  living  to  the  dead 
And  so  appease  his  rage — or  not  at  all. 
Ha  !   dost  thou  frown,  inevitable  shadow  ? 
Frown  on,  dread  phantom  !     Canst  thou  stay  my 

arm  ? 

[JMt  LYCANDER. 


286  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 


SCENE    IV. 

GROVE  IN  FRONT  OF  DIANA'S  TEMPLE. — AGATHE  AND  CHRESTUS. 


AGATHE. 

GOOD  Chrestus  !   why  so  stern  and  melancholy, 
Haste  in  thy  steps,  and  frowns  upon  thy  brow  ? 
Would  I  had  met  thee  in  a  brighter  mood  ! 
I  have  a  small  petition  to  prefer, 
And  can  not  bear  denial  from  thy  lips. 

CHRESTUS. 

Or  sad  or  gay  did  ever  I  refuse 
A  boon  to  Agathe  ? 

AGATHE. 

Nay,  thou  art  kind, 

And  never  did  my  mind  misgive  till  now ; 
But  this  concerns  the  King.     Why  start'st  thou  so 
At  the  mere  name  of  King  ? 

CURESTUS. 

The  King,  Lycander  ? 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  287 

What  know'st  thou  of  the  King  ?     Better  it  were 
Thou  never  hadst  been  born  than  meet  that  King. 

AGATIIE. 

Chrestus  !  his  miseries  have  touched  my  heart. 
He  is  disquieted  in  mind  and  body, 
His  strength  is  failing  and  his  sleep  is  broken 
By  fearful  visions. 

CHRESTUS. 

Know'st  thou  his  disease  ? 

AGATHE. 

Ten  weary  years  of  fierce,  continuous  war, 
Absence  from  home,  privation  and  fatigue, 
The  unremitting  labors  of  the  mind, 
Thirst,  hunger,  wounds,  the  torture  of  defeat, 
The  more  convulsing  rage  of  victory, 
The  scenes  of  carnage  and  perpetual  riot, 
Might  well  occasion  any  mortal  ill, 
E'en  to  the  verge  of  madness., 

CHRESTUS. 

Wide  the  mark  ! 

0  Agathe  !  the  king  is  mad,  if  madness 


288  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

Be  not  too  mild  a  term  for  a  blind  frenzy, 
With  conscience  for  the  torturer. 

AGATHE. 

Alas! 
What  hath  he  done  ? 

CHKESTUS. 

Done  ?     Ancient  deeds  of  crime, 
Which  innocent  and  happy  men  forget, 
But  which  grow  brighter  in  the  memories 
Of  those  who  do  them. 

AGATHE. 

Ah  !   I  yearn  the  more 
To  offer  to  the  royal  sufferer 
With  chaste  and  eager  hand  the  golden  cup 
Of  consolation.     If  his  malady 
Be  spiritual,  spiritual  must  be  the  means 
Of  restoration. 

CHBESTUS. 

Canst  thou  by  persuasion 
Quiet  the  raging  waters  of  the  deep 
When  they  come  foaming  to  the  frighted  shores  ? 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  289 

Canst  thou  with  charms,  or  priestly  eloquence, 
Or  with  more  potent  tears  and  supplications. 
Drive  the  malignant  Furies  from  the  prey 
For  which  they  howl  ? 

AGATHE. 

Not  I,  0  no  !   not  I, 

But  can  the  gods  not  do  it  ?     Dost  thou  doubt 
The  graciousness  of  heaven,  the  potency 
Of  sacred  offerings  made  with  holy  rites, 
With  humble  prayers  and  penitential  vows  ? 
O  Chrestus  !   let  this  miserable  King 
Kneel  at  Diana's  shrine,  whilst  I  implore 
Her  blessings  on  his  head.     The  ghastly  forms 
Will  not  pursue  him  to  this  sacred  spot. 
Here  the  propitious  glow  of  heaven  perchance, 
Like  sunshine  gleaming  o'er  a  wintry  world, 
May  melt  into  his  heart.     He  will  relent  ! 

CHRESTUS. 

Sweet  Agathe  !  thou  dost  not  know  the  monster 
For  whom  thou  pleadst.  He  is  accursed  of  heaven, 
His  hand — ah,  yes  !  his  soul  is  stained  with  blood  : 

There  is  no  spot  unsullied  in  his  nature. 
18 


290  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

Shall  he  be  welcomed  to  these  sacred  groves  ? 

Thy  trees  would  murmur  forth  their  discontent ; 

Thy  doves  would  fly  the  desecrated  place  ; 

Thy  flowers  would  fade  ;  the  statue  of  thy  Goddess 

Would  tremble  on  its  silver  pedestal : 

Famine  or  plague  would  scourge  us  for  such  wrong 

To  her  divinity. 

AGATHE. 
Judge  him  not  harshly. 

CHKBSTL'S. 

Harshly  ?     Why,  he  slew  his  only  brother, 
Young,  gallant,  generous,  loving,  beautiful  ; 
He  slew  him  for  his  crown.     And  at  this  moment 
Thyself,  Elpenor,  Theron,  I  and  all 
Stand  in  the  imminent  jeopardy  of  life 
From  his  explosive  passions.     Even  now 
He  has  commanded  us  to  drag  thy  brother, 
And  thee  thyself,  sweet  Agathe  !   before  him. 

AGATHE. 

0,  wherefore,  noble  Chrestus  ?     How  have  we 
Offended  him  ? 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  291 

CHKESTCS. 

Who  knows  ?     No  one  can  tell 
What  desperate  turn  his  phantasies  may  take. 

AGATHE. 
0,  bring  him  here  ! 

CHRESTUS. 

Art  thou  not  now  afraid 
To  meet  this  tyrant  ? 

AGATHE. 

No  !   I  say  again, 
Leaning  upon  Diana's  radiant  arm 
For  her  serene  protection,  bring  him  here  ! 
Dost  thou  remember  on  a  summer  eve, 
Two  years  ago,  we  found  an  aged  man 
Stretched  sleeping  in  this  cool  and  grateful  shade 
From  utter  weariness  ?     His  beard  was  long, 
And  hunger  on  his  frowning  countenance 
Had  made  its  ghastly  lines  ;  his  feet  were  bare  ; 
His  hair  was  matted  with  the  stems  and  burrs 
Caught    in   the    woods  ;    his    eyeballs,    shot   with 

blood, 
Were  half  revealed  as  if  he  feared  to  sleep. 


292  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

This  man  had  killed  his  children,  and  remorse 
Had  wrecked  his  reason,  while  the  public  wrath 
Banished  the  miscreant  from  the  face  of  man. 
None  gave  him  needful  fire,  or  food,  or  shelter  ; 
All  cursed  him  as  he  passed.     When  from  his  sleep 
He  started  up,  he  raved,  and  called  his  children, 
Like  a  young  mother  wailing  for  her  babe, 
The  first-born,  newly  dead.     I  laid  my  hands 
Upon  his  trembling  brow,  and  weeping  prayed 
Our  Goddess  to  befriend  the  poor  forlorn. 
Long  time  he  gazed  upon  me,  then  he  wept, 
Then  fell  asleep  again  ;   this  time  he  smiled 
As  if  his  dreams  were  pleasant.     When  he  woke 
'T  was  to  the  common  light  and  lot,  of  men  ; 
His  mind  was  rational,  his  spirit  bowed 
In  penitence  and  fervent  gratitude. 
See  what  a  child  can  do,  if  Heaven  approve  ! 
So  let  it  be  with  this  distracted  King. 

CHKESTUS. 

Why  waste  thy  sacred  sympathy  on  a  soul 
Impervious  to  all  good  ?     This  wretched  King 
Spun  for  himself  the  web  of  destiny. 
The  soldiers  hate  his  savage  rule  ;  the  people 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  293 

Abhor  his  name  ;  he  wears  the  crown  which  Nature 

Gave  to  another.     A  thousand  hands  are  ready 

To  pluck  the  stolen  jewel  from  his  brow. 

Our  plan  is  laid.     We  can  not.  give  him  freedom 

To  consummate  his  own  unhappy  fall, 

Involving  as  it  might  the  woe  of  others : 

But  our  indignant  steel  is  leaping  forth 

For  retribution.     Why  delay  an  hour 

To  test  thy  merciful  but  hopeless  scheme 

On  such  a  man  ? 

AGATHE. 

0  Chrestus  !    noble  Chrestus  ! 
Hast  thou,  who  art  so  generous,  good  and  wise, 
And  hold  such  close  communion  with  the  Grods, 
Ere  stooping  to  a  rash  conspiracy, 
Hast  thou  accorded  to  this  luckless  King 
The  universal  privilege  of  man  : 
Lenient  construction  and  the  amplest  chance 
Of  reformation  ?     Let  our  sweet  Keligion 
Weave  round  his  human  heart  its  holy  bands. 
They  may  withdraw  him  from  the  precipice 
To  which  he  verges.     He  may  yet  confess 
His  terrible  transgression  and  appease 


294  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

The  anger  of  the  Gods  and  men  by  full 

And  noble  restitution.     He  may  make 

Some  expiation  of  the  guilty  past 

By  an  old  age  of  honorable  use. 

Chrestus  !  good  Chrestus !  grant  this  single  boon 

To  him — to  me — and  to  thy  generous  heart. 

CllRESTUS. 

Well,  well,  so  be  it  !     I  will  bring  him  here, 
And  thou  shalt  have  fair  trial ;  but  I  know 
Fruitless  will  be  thy  task.     The  twisted  oak 
Yields  not  its  sturdy  branches  to  the  wind 
Like  the  compliant  willow. 

AGATHE. 

Thanks,  0  thanks! 
I  will  prepare. 

CHRESTCS. 

One  moment :  Agathe  ! 
I  put  this  curious  ring  upon  thy  finger. 
Note  well  this  hidden  spring,  which  on  the  touch 
Shoots  out  a  drop  of  subtlest  poison. 

AGATHE. 

Poison  ? 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  295 

CHRESTUS. 

Whoever  gets  it  on  his  lip  or  breathes  it 
Falls  straightway  helpless,  breathless,  and  may  die 
If  he  inhales  enough.     Remember  this. 

AGATHE. 
What  should  I  do  with  poison  ? 

CHRESTUS. 

Keep  it,  child  ! 

The  man  thou  art  to  deal  with  is  a  madman, 
Impetuous,  cruel  and  ungovernable. 
Thy  virgin  instincts  might  demand  a  weapon, 
Just  such  as  this,  invisible,  unfailing, 
Quick  in   its  action, — 

AGATHE. 

Chrestus  !   I  am  safe 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  Diana's  statue 
From  all  the  baleful  movements  of  the  stars, 
Much  more  from  any  thing  that  men  can  do. 

CHRESTUS. 

Take  it,  sweet  Agathe  !  and  say  no  more  ; 
I  shall  be  happier  thus. 


296  A  G  A  T  H  E  , 

AGATHE. 

Then  let  us  haste. 

CHRESTUS. 

Stay  for  a  moment  ;  Agathe  !  my  child  ! 
An  ominous  shadow  falls  upon  my  heart 
At  this  consent. 

AGATHE. 

That  false  and  evil  shadow 

Which  sometimes  comes  o'er  heaven's  selected  hour 
To  mar  its  sweet  impression  !     Let  us  go. 
What  can  we  dread  when  in  our  humble  spheres 
We  meekly  strive  to  imitate  the  Gods  ? 

[Exeunt. 


ACT    II. 

SCENE    I. 
GARDEN  OF  CHRESTUS. — CHRESTUS  AND  THERON. 


CHRESTUS. 

AT  first  Lycander  bitterly  refused 
To  see  the  priestess  or  propitiate 
Diana's  favor  ;  and  would  scarcely  listen 
With  any  patience  till  I  had  confessed 
That  Agathe,  the  vestal  of  the  temple, 
Was  the  fair  daughter  of  his  murdered  brother. 
He  then  agreed. 

THERON. 

How  did  they  meet  ? 

CHRESTUS. 

We  went, 

Myself  in  silence,  he  with  broken  words, 
13* 


298  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

Part  imprecations  on  th'  avenging  shadow, 

Part  blasphemies  against  the  Gods,  until 

We  reached  the  green  sward  of  the  sacred  grove  ; 

When  lo  !  the  bright  and  gentle  Agathe 

Glided  serenely  toward  us  through  the  trees 

As  might  the  moon,  with  Dian  for  its  soul, 

Shine  softly  down  the  azure  field  of  heaven 

Beset  with  clouds.     0  she  was  beautiful  ! 

Her  radiating  goodness  seemed  to  make 

A  golden  halo  round  her,  which  infused 

Such  peace  into  the  soul  one  could  believe 

The  music  of  Elysian  bowers  remote 

Was  lulling  him  to  sleep.     The  King,  amazed, 

Looked  wondering  at  her  as  she  meekly  knelt 

And  kissed  his  hand.     Rising,  she  welcomed  him 

With  such  a  radiant  grace  and  eloquence 

Of  word  and  look,  that  he  appeared  entranced, 

And  mutely  walked  with  her  toward   the  temple. 

THEUON. 
Think'st  thou  he  will  be  s-oftened  ? 

CHRESTUS. 

For  a  while  ; 
But  the  old  shadows  will  come  back  again. 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  299 

Elpenor  must  be  king.     Hast  thou  revealed 
The  secret  of  his  birth  ? 

THERON. 

Yes,  and  he  heard  it 
Surprised  indeed,  but  with  a  dignity 
Which  proved  his  soul  heroic.     But  he  vowed 
Before  the  sun,  and  moon,  and  all  the  stars 
To  wreak  upon  the  frenzied  fratricide 
A  bloody  and  a  swift  revenge. 

CHKESTDS. 

Now  see  ! 

Nor  time,  nor  place,  nor  thwarting  circumstance, 
Nor  education,  nor  the  power  of  years 
Of  strict  seclusion,  nor  opposing  lessons, 
Can  e'er  extinguish  in  the  human  breast 
The  spark  of  our  hereditary  natures. 
This  youth,  the  scion  of  a  martial  stock, 
A  line  of  fierce,  ungovernable  kings, 
Whose  food  was  blood  and  whose  delight  was  war, 
Is  ready  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
To  doff  the  robes  of  philosophic  ease 
And  wear  the  imperial  purple. 


300  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

THERON. 

He  will  grace  it  : 

For  magnanimity  subdues  his  pride, 
Too  fiery  else,  to  a  becoming  luster. 
He  granted  my  request,  and  waits  with  us 
To  see  if  Agathe's  sweet,  plastic  power 
Can  mold  the  obdurate  temper  of  the  King 
To  happier  issues.     If  she  shall  succeed, 
He  spares  his  life  and  orders  banishment  ; 
But  if  she  fail,  as  fail  she  will,  his  sword 
Is  consecrated  to  its  awful  duty. 

CHKESTUS. 

Mercy  and  Justice  both  are  satisfied. 
All   things  look   bright,  yet,  throbbing  with  sus 
pense, 

My  heart  is  wretched.     0  sweet  Agathe  ! 
How  tardily  this  daylight  wears  away  ! 

[Exeunt 


G  A  T  H  E  .  301 


SCENE     II. 

INTERIOR  OF  DIANA'S  TEMPLE. — LYCANDER  AND  AGATHE. 


LYCANDER. 

I  WILL  not  leave  thee,  Maiden  !     I  will  dwell 
Here  in  this  temple,  ever  in  thy  presence  ; 
For  at  thy  side  there's  peace  and  blessedness  ; 
If  thou  but  turn  that  radiant  face  away, 
The  shadows  quickly  gather  o'er  my  soul, 
And  all  is  dark  again.     I  will  not  leave  thee  ! 
Now   by  the  Gods  !     I  will  not. 

AGATHE. 

King  Lycander  ! 
Thy  crown,  thy  scepter,  duty's  high  behest — 

LYCANDER. 

Such  plausive  words  of  wisdom  move  me  not  ; 
I  'm  no  philosopher.     In  the  new  joy, 
New  life,  new  heaven,  which  I  receive  from  thee, 
I  have  forgotten  my  imperial  home, 


302  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

And  never  care  to  think  of  it  again. 

Thou  art  my  heart,  my  hope,  my  life,  my  all  ! 

AGATHE. 

Attribute  not,  0  King,  to  a  poor  mortal 
The  gracious  blessing  of  the  pitying  Grods. 
This  is  the  sanctuary  of  Diana, 
A  chaste,  secluded,  consecrated  spot, 
Where  all  things  are  endowed  with  magic  life. 
The  sheltered  birds  are  here  more  musical, 
The  little  stream  is  edged  with  sweeter  green, 
The  winds  are  balmier  and  of  gentler  motion, 
The  skies  more  bright,  the  season  more  propitious, 
The  trees  of  richer  growth,  and  fruit  and  flower 
Of  fairer  hue  ;  and  here  the  human  soul 
Which  bows  in  innocent  love  and  worship  finds 
In  joyous  wonder  more  serene  repose, 
A  calmer  life,  a  nearer  sense  of  heaven 
Than  elsewhere.     King  Lycander  !  here  confess 
The  power,  the  love,  the  mercy  of  the  Goddess, 
And  bring  a  generous  and  repentant  heart, 
Fit  offering  to  her  shrine,  and  thou  shalt  have 
Eternal  freedom  from  thy  torturing  dreams, 
And  peace  ineffable. 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  303 

LYCANDER. 

Seductive  Spirit  ! 

Speak  on,  speak  on  !     There 's  music  in  thy  words, 
Which  had  those  old  astronomers  but  heard 
Instead  of  that  wild  music  of  the  spheres, 
They  ne'er  had  told  its  power,  but  died  in  silence, 
Enamored  of  the  sound.     Tell  me  no  more 
Of  Gods  and  Goddesses.     Leave  them  to  children, 
Or  those  whom  sickness  or  calamity 
Makes  childlike.     Thou,  sweet  Agathe  !   to  me 
Art  the  sole  genius  of  this  happy  place. 
Could  I  transport  thy  subtle  spirit  now 
To  a  bleak  wilderness  of  Libyan  sand, 
Or  the  still  region  of  eternal  ice, 
This  radiant  nature  would  spring  up  around  thee, 
Subservient  and  complete — the  placid  sky, 
The  lawn,  the  trees  with  ever-singing  birds, 
The  sweet  Variety  of  hill  and  dale, 
The  golden  beach,  the  shining  sea,  the  temple — 
And  the  first  men  who  found  the  magic  spot 
Would  kneel  to  thee,  and  call  thee,  chaste  Diana ! 

AGATHE. 
Forgive  him,  high-throned  Goddess  !    0  Lycander  ! 


304  •  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

I  shudder  at  this  awful  blasphemy. 

Beware,  0  ingrate  !  lest  Diana  take 

Her  blessing  from  thee  now.     Must  not  the  soul 

Which  makes  its  reckless  mock  of  sacred  things 

Drink  deeper  guilt  and  with  it  deeper  woe  ? 

Think  of  the  recent  tortures  of  thy  mind, 

And  of  the  peace  and  joy  which  banished  them. 

Beseech  the  Goddess,  ever-merciful, 

To  let  thy  ravings  pass  unpunished  by, 

And  dare  no  longer  in  her  sanctuary 

Make  a  vain  idol  of  a  mortal  worm, 

And  question  her  supreme  divinity. 

LTCANDER. 

Eloquently  spoken,  my  sweet  deliverer  ! 
But  all  such  lessons  fall  on  heedless  ears 
In  thy  sweet  presence.     Hear  me,  Agathe  ! 
Empire  has  lost  its  charm  :   the  crown  is  only 
A  fiery  circle  on  an  idiot's  brow, 
Who  bears  its  misery  for  its  splendid  show. 
We  will  depart,  we  will  abandon  all — 

AGATHE,  (weeping.) 

I  never  thought  it  would  have  come  to  this  ! 
O  Chrestus  !   Chrestus  ! 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  305 

LTCANBER. 

Love,  my  Agathe  ! 

Will  shortly  dry  thy  tears  ;  now  listen  to  me. 
There  is  an  island  of  the  Cyelade's 
Green  to  the  water  with  perpetual  verdure. 
I  passed  it  on  my  bounding  way  to  Troy, 
'And  my  prow  lingered,  deaf  to  glory's  call, 
Within  the  blissful  shadow  of  its  hills. 
It  rose  like  Venus  from  the  bright  sea-foam, 
An  ever-shining  jewel  of  the  deep  ; 
Too  small  for  base  ambition's  selfish  dream, 
But  large  enough  for  love,  whose  happy  kingdom 
Is  boundless.     There  eternal  beauty  reigns  ; 
The  very  air  is  musical ;   the  light 
Lies  lovingly  upon  the  shadowy  cliiFs 
And  on  the  emerald  sea  ;   the  woods  are  full 
Of  birdling  voices  prophesying  love  ; 
And  canopies  of  purple  cloud  o'erhang 
The  far,  enchanted  valleys.     It  can  woo 
Soldiers  from  war  and  sailors  from  the  wave, 
Philosophers  from  academic  shades, 
Poets  from  fame  and  kings  from  ancient  thrones, 
All  men  from  common  duties,  common  pleasures, 
To  live  entranced  upon  its  flowery  breast, 


'.'/)(',  V  T  H  E  . 

And  all-forgetful  of  this  human  life. 
JJeneat.h  Olympus  find  another  heaven  ; 
There  will  we  dwell — 

A',  A  THE. 

No  more,  thou  wicked   King! 

There  let  thy  tongue  he  palsied  :    the  deep  cur.se  " 
Is  lowering  o'er  tbee  still.     Hast  thou  forgotten 
That  I  am  Priestess  of  Diana's  temple  ? 

Does  not  her  gift,  a  chaste,  ethereal  life, 

IS  well  in  my  veins,  and  shall  an  earthly  passion 

St.Jiin    the    pure    current  ?      Never,    thoughtless 

Monarch  ! 

Cold  as  the  moonbeam  on  the  sleeping  wave, 
Cold  an  the  new-fallen  snow  on  Ida's  top, 
Purer  than  hoth,  must  be  the  vestal's  heart 
Who  serves  at  great  Diana's  lustrous  shrine  ! 
Hence  to  thy  crumbling  palace  !   Thou  hast  breathed 
Thy  unchaste  thought  into  my  ear.     Diana 
Frowns  on  her  silver  throne  ;   her  dove  of  peace 
Flies  from  thy  breast  forever.     Leave  the  temple  ! 

I.,'   \VDER. 

Nay,  by  the  Gods  thou  fearest  so,   I  will   riot  ! 
Nor  will  I  heed   thy  boasted  sanctity, 


A  (i  AT  HE.  .'507 

Tin:   simple,   folly    of  ;m    artless   ;,-ii  1, 
.Kiiamored  of  religion's  lii^h   romance, 
Ami  nurtured  in  the  dim  and  solemn  shade 
Of  this  old  tomplo.     To  the  world  with  me  ! 
Thou  shalt  be  queen,  yea,  if  thou  wilt — a  Goddess, 
All  men  shall  kiss  thy  feet.     We  will  be  happy— 
Happier  than  those  who  live  in  highest  heaven 
Ami  mock  at  human  fate. 

I  l''.ni<,f(i.<-<-:\  ln-f. 
AOATIIE. 

Spare,   UK',    Lyeander  ! 
Diana  !   aid  thy  child  ! 

LYCANDEH. 

When  thus  thou  liest 
In  maiden  trust  and  beauty  on  my  bosom 
Who — who  shall  pluck  thec  from  my  burning  arms? 
Which  of  the  Gods?- 

f  //'•  />aiMt;n,  nlowly  rdeaitcx  her  andjlw.n  MH  eye  on  vacancy.] 

Ha  1  thou  detested  phantom  ! 

Dost  com<;  a^ain  ?   a,nd   this   i.iiix;  vvil,li   j.h y  leaf  iifcs 

fjunviilscd   with   ra^c,   no   longer  pitiful 

With  meek  reproaches  !    I  had  thought  thine  image 

Was   Uof.t.c<l    fVom    I  he  e:mvas  of  the  mind. 


308  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

Back  to  thy  shades  !     I  laugh  thee  now  to  scorn  ! 

I  have  protection  from  divinity. 

Thou,  Agathe  !   can'st  rid  me  of  this  fiend  ; 

One  stately  gesture  of  thy  radiant  hand 

Will  banish  it  forever. 

AGATHE. 

Ah  !   I  tremble 

With  sudden  coldness,  for  the  spiritual  life 
Which  I  receive  from  heaven  has  been  withdrawn. 
Quick  from  my  presence,  or  I  faint.     Away  ! 
Hence   to   thy  punishment  !      The   Gods  forsake 
thee ! 

LTCANDER. 

And  thou — wilt  thou  forsake  me,  Agathe  ? 

AGATHE. 

I  can  not  help  thee  ;  I  have  tried  in  vain, 
Praying  and  weeping  for  thee  ;  now  I  fear  thee, 
And  my  whole  soul  by  thy  presumptuous  sin 
Is  chilled  with  horror.     Thy  impurity 
Is  to  my  spirit  like  the  loathsome  air 
Of  dungeons. 


A.  G  A  T  H  E  .  309 

LYCANDER. 

Then  I  do  resume  my  power  ; 
And  tell  thee,  sorceress  !   I  am  still  a  King. 
Thou  shalt  become  subservient  to  my  wishes, 
Or  I  will  crush  thee  in  this  iron  hand 
As  I  would  crush  a  flower. 


AGATHE,  (Kneeling.) 

0  great  Diana,  aid  me  ! 


LYCANDER. 

Truce  to  thy  prayers  and  listen  to  rny  words  ! 
I  will  convey  thee  to  a  secret  chamber 
I  know  of  in  the  temple.     None  will  guess 
Thy  whereabouts,  and  clamor  is  in  vain. 
There  will  I  leave  thee  to  thy  thoughts  :  there  wait 
Till  midnight,  when  the  moon  has  risen,  my  coming  ; 
And  when  I  come,  be  ready  to  my  will, 
Compliant  as  the  shadow  to  the  sun, 
Or  violence  shall  break  what  will  not  bend  ; 
With  this  addition,  that  thy  nearest  friends. 
Chrestus,  thy  sage  old  counselor  and  thy  brothe  , 
Shall  hang  as  forfeit  at  my  palace  gate. 
Headless  to-morrow.     Come,  my  beauty  ! 


310  AG  A  T  H  E. 

AGATHE. 

Ah  me  ! 
Queen  Goddess  ! — 

[She  faints. 
LTCANDEK. 

Then  I  must  bear  thee  hence.     Delicious  burden! 
It  would  be  sweet  to  kiss  this  snow-white  brow, 
And  calm  the  pulses  of  this  trembling  heart, 
If  this  were  love's  commotion,  and  not  fear's — 
She  will  recover  soon — and  then — at  midnight ! 

[Exit,  bearing  AGATHE  out. 


SCENE     III. 
A  CHAMBER  IN  THE  PALACE. — LYCANDER  ASLEEP  ON  A  COUCH. 


\Enter  ELPENOK. 
ELPENOR. 

THIS  royal  house  is  tottering  to  its.  fall. 
The  guardsmen  of  its  gate  in  conscious  fear 
Have  all  deserted  it.     Treason  stalks  in 
And  treads  its  silent  chambers  like  a  ghost 
Unchallenged.     T  heron  says  'tis  time  to  strike. 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  311 

The  plot  of  gentle  Agathe  has  failed  ; 

The  King  returned  at  sunset  from  the  temple 

Muttering  and  cursing  as  he  came. 

Good  heavens  1 

Can  a  base  fratricide  forget  his  crimes, 
And  be  refreshed  with  slumber  ?     Ah,  no  !   no  ! 
I  chid  too  soon  the  true,  avenging  fates  : 
'T  is  but  the  painful  counterfeit  of  sleep  ; 
He  lies  like  one  whose  body  is  at  rest, 
But  whose  malignant  and  accursed  soul 
Lurks  in  the  face  and  struggles  to  betray 
Its  hideous  workings.     Lo  !  he  stirs,  he  wakes  ; 
'Tis  well,  I  would  not  strike  him  in  his  sleep — 

LYCANDEK,  (starting  up.) 

Who  talks  of  striking  ?    Ha  !  thou  coward  Trojan  ! 
Thrice  have  I  chased  thee  round  the  walls  to-day  ! 
Now  stand  thy  ground  and  let  my  thirsy  steel 
Drink  up  thy  base-born  blood — Ha  !  I  was  dream 
ing  ! 
Slave  !   did'st  thou  speak  of  striking  ? 

ELPENOK. 

0  Lycander  ! 
I  am  Elpenor,  come  to  claim  my  crown — 


312  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

LYCANDER. 

That  name  !   that  voice  !     Aha  !   I  see  !  I  see  ! 
Thou  hast  at  length  cast  off  the  crushing  load 
Of  the  great  rock  which  bowed  thy  bleeding  head. 
Thou  hast  arisen  !   thou  art  alive,  0  brother  ! 
And  see  !   there  is  no  blood  upon  thy  face — 
So  youthful,  happy,  noble,  bright  in  armor — 
Why,  it  was  all  a  dream  !     You  are  the  King  ! 
Years  have  not  passed  away.     I  am  not  old, 
And  gray  and  sorrow-stricken.     I  had  a  vision 
Of  a  long  war  with  Troy.     Let  me  remember  ! 

ELPENOR. 

No  trick,  no  subterfuge  avails  thee  now  ; 
My  sword  is  consecrated  to  revenge : 
Kneel  and  unbare  thy  bosom  ! 

LYCANDER. 

Softly,  brother  ! 

Speak  not  so  fiercely  :  they  will  find  us  here  ; 
Didst  thou  not  hear  a  sound  ?     Answer  me  truly  ! 

ELPENOR. 

The  curtain  rustled  in  a  transient  gust 
That  came  through  the  open  window. 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  313 

LYCANDER. 

'T  was  not  that — 

Not  that — for  it  began  last  eve  at  sunset, 
A  faint  and  undistinguishable  noise, 
Less  than  the  softest  murnmr  of  the  sea  ; 
But  it  increases,  and  it  comes  this  way. 
I  know  not  why,  a  dreadful  apprehension 
Seizes  me.     Assure  me  that  thou  hearest  it  not ! 

ELPENOR. 

Lycander  !  't  is  the  troubled  phantasy 
Of  a  spirit  thoroughly  diseased  with  guilt. 
Why  dost  thou  tremble  so,  and  the  big  drops 
Stand    on    thy   brow  ?     'T  is    conscience   tortures 

thee, 
And  conjures  these  illusions  of  the  sense  ! 

LYCANDER. 

'T  is  no  illusion,  inexperienced  boy  ! 
I  can  interpret  all,  and  yet  I  shudder 
To  think  of  it.     Nothing  have  I  seen  as  yet ; 
They  are  not  visible,  and  yet  I  know — 
From  the  dread  palpitations  on  the  air 

I  feel — that  they  are  coming. 
14 


314  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

ELPENOB. 

Who  are  coming  ? 

LYCANDEK. 

Softly — the  Furies  !  Ministers  of  vengeance  ! 
Who  else  but  they  could  thus  unnerve  me  ?  Who 

else  ? 

Their  imprecations  load  the  trembling  wind, 
Their  awful  steps,  not  Jove  himself  can  stay, 
Cause  the  insensate  earth  to  shudder.     No  altars 
Are  ever  reared  to  them,  no  vows  are  paid  them — 
Deaf  and  implacable. — Elj  enor  !  listen  ! 
Can  it  be  possible  the  bloody  fiends 
Give  utterance  to  their  thoughts  in  human  speech  ? 
Faintly  but  clearly  canst  thou  not  distinguish, 
Amidst  their  unintelligible  jargon, 
My  name,  Lycander  ?    It  is  !    I  hear  it !     They 

come ! 

0  whither  shall  I  fly  ?  Canst  thou  not  save  me  ? 

[Embraces  ELPESOK'S  knees 

ELPENOR. 

1  cannot  kill  this  abject,  grovelling  wretch  ! 
Unneeded  sword  !  just  Heaven  has  done  thy  work. 
Revenge  itself  must  turn  to  pity  here 


A  G  A  T  H  E.  315 

And  weep  at  its  own  purposes.     I  came 
Fully  prepared,  with  every  thought  attuned 
To  be  the  minister  of  righteous  vengeance, 
But  the  dread  powers  of  Pluto  have  forestalled  me. 
Shade  of  my  father  !  from  thy  heavens  look  down 
Upon  this  outcast,  miserable  man, 
And  pardon  my  relenting  spirit.     Here 
Will  I  leave  him  to  his  punishment. 


Leave  me  ? 

0  leave  me  not  !     There,  there,  I  hear  them  yet  ! 
Silence  is  terrible  ;  speak  to  me,  stay  with  me, 
Mock  me,  spurn  me,  curse  me,  strike  me,  kill  me, 
But  leave  me  not  !     He  goes  ! 

[Exit  ELPENOR. 
0  Jupiter  ! 

Ruler  of  Gods  and  men,  hear  me  but  once  ! 
If  thou  hast  lightning  in  thine  armory, 
And  mercy  left  to  wing  one  flaming  shaft, 
Here  let  it  fall  ! 

[Sinks  to  the  floor. 


316  A  G  A  T  H  E 


SCENE    IV. 

MIDNIGHT. — GROVE  NEAR  DIANA'S  TEMPLE. 


Ly  GANDER  alone. 

THE  stars  now  keep  their  watches,  and  I  mine  ; 
They  for  the  silent  blessing  of  the  world, 
So  Poets  say — I  for  its  malediction. 
The  excess  of  misery  has  made  me  calm. 
The  Furies  pause,  the  phantoms  disappear, 
And  strange  serenity  comes  o'er  my  spirit, 
Which,  I  am  sure,  presages  nothing  good. 
'T  is  but  the  depth  and  silence  of  the  river 
Swift  gliding  on  above  the  cataract, 
Before  its  awful  plunge.     I  feel  impelled 
By  irresistible  necessity 

Headlong  upon  my  fate.     No  thought  of  mercy, 
No  hope,  no  sweet  compunction  of  remorse 
Softens  my  heart.     Lycander  !  promptly,  boldly, 
Improve  this  lucid  moment  :  as  the  traveler, 
Lost  and  benighted  in  the  fearful  woods, 
Catches  the  lightning's  flash  to  find  his  way, 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  317 

Strike  for  thy  life  !     My  visitor  was  the  son, 
And  in  my  fit  I  took  him  for  his  father. 
He  talked  of  vengeance,  and  he  has  good  cause ; 
And  when  this  young  compassion  has  worn  off 
The  spirit  will  return.     Then,  let  it  come  ! 
Unconscious    youth  !    thy    movement    should    be 

speedy  ! 

E'en  while  thou  sleepest  a, spirit  is  abroad 
Will  do  a  deed  which  mars  thy  peace  forever. 
Treason,  I  think,  is  stirring  in  the  wind. 
Chrestus  and  Theron  I  so  much  distrust 
That  they  shall  die  to-morrow.     People  mock  me 
Or  think  me  mad  ;  my  crown  has  fallen  to  pieces, 
My  scepter  glided  from  my  careless  hands. 
The  soldiery  will  hail  Elpenor  King 
And  hunt  me,  like  a  dragon,  with  their  spears. 
Gods  !  has  it  come  to  this  ?   Down — choking  wrath — 
I  would  be  luminously  calm  and  cold 
In  this  emergency.     My  cup  of  pleasure 
Has  not  been  emptied  to  the  very  dregs ; 
The  last  best  drop  is  left.     0,  let  me  quaff  it ! 
Another  hour  and  Agathe  shall  fly, 
A  desecrated,  melancholy  thing, 
Fit  for  the  jeers  and  curses  of  the  world. 


318  A  G  A  T  H  E. 

Then  will  I  seek  Elpenor  with  this  blade, 
Which  has  been  almost  blackened  in  the  blood 
Of  mighty  heroes,  and  his  shivering  ghost 
Hurl    to    the    waiting    shades.       The    spirit    of 

Troy 

Is  mantling  o'er  me  ;  I  could  fight  my  way 
Through  an  embattled  legion  to  my  aim  ! 

[Exit. 

[Enter  ELPENOR  AND  CHRESTUS 
ELPENOR. 

This  way,  good  Chrestus  !     I  am  sure  I  heard 
Voices  and  footsteps  here. 

CURESTUS. 

Would  it  were  he  ! 

But  do  not  strike  or  wound  him,  dear  Elpenor  ! 
Until  the  villain  tells  us  where  to  find 
Our  Agathe.     0  Agathe  !   my  sweet ! 
My  child,  my  Agathe  ! 

ELPENOR. 

0,  it  was  strange 

She  was  not  in  the  temple  !     I  misgive— 
I  choke  with  apprehension — 


A  G  A  T  H  E.  319 

ClIRESTUS. 

Quick  on  his  traces  ! 

He  knows,  or  none.     Ye  Gods  !  0  guide  us  now  ! 
0  Agatlie  !   my  child  ! 

\Enxwd. 


SCENE    V. 
SECRET  CHAMBKR  IK  THE  TEMPLE. — AGATHE  LYING  ON  A  Coucn. 


\Enler  LTCANDEK,  softly. 
LYCANDER. 

Ye  Gods  !   what  envious  and  forestalling  thief 
Hath  stolen  into  the  garden  of  her  body, 
And  plucked  the  rose  of  life  ? 

Who  comes  behind  me  ? 

[ELPENOK  AND  CHBESTUS  rush  in. 

ELPENOR. 

Ha  !     Have  I  tracked  thee  to  thy  secret  lair, 
Thou  royal  wild  beast  ? — Chrestus  !  what  is  this  ? 
Agathe  !  asleep  or  dead  ?     0  Agathe  ! 
Agathe,  my  sister  ! 


320  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

LYCANDER. 

Wake  her  if  thou  can'st. 

ELPENOR. 

Then  hast  thou  killed  her  ? 

LYCANDER. 

What  and  if  I  had, 
Thou   need'st  not  pluck  thy  fledgeling   sword   so 

quickly, 
What  if  I  had  ? 

CHRESTUS. 

She  stirs,  she  lives,  0  see  ! 

AGATHE. 

What  sound  of  angry  voices  has  recalled  me 
Back    to    the    world    again  ?      Such    a    sweet 

dream  ! 
0  do  not  wake  me  from  this  drowsy  bliss. 

ELPENOR. 

O  Agathe,  my  sister  !   wake  and  tell  me 
If    this    perfected    villain    hath    yet    wronged 
thee — 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  321 

AOATHE. 

0  no  !   Diana  was  with  me.     I  have  escaped 
His  violence.     Has  the  moon  arisen,  my  brother'! 

ELPENOR. 

Not  yet,  sweet  sister  !     But  the  eastern  stars 
Stand  all  a-glow,  in  bright  expectancy 
Of  her  swift  coming. 

AGATHE. 

Ah  !   when  she  has  risen 
And  given  Diana's  blessing  to  the  world, 
Diana's  virgin  will  have  passed  away 
Into  Elysium. 

ELPENOK. 
Alas  !  what  does  this  mean  ? 

AGATHE,  (to  Chrcstus.) 

Did'st  thou  not  give  me  poison  ? 

CHRESTUS. 

And  didst  thou  use  it  ? 
Why — it  was  meant  for  him.     0  Agathe  ! 

0  cursed  foresight  ! 

14* 


322  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

ELPENOR. 

Chrestus  !   this  from  thee  ? 
Fly,  fly,  old  man  !  give  her  an  antidote, 
A  speedy,  wonder-working  antidote ! 
Immediately  !     Old  dotard  !  art  thou  palsied  ? 

CUKESTUS. 

Alas  !   there  is  no  antidote. 

ELPENOR. 

Sayest  thou  so  P 
Then,  by  avenging  heaven  ! — 

AOATHE. 

Elpenor,  hold  ! 

For  shame  !  down — rather  down  upon  thy  knees, 
Unthinking  boy  !   and  thank  the  kind  old  man 
Whose   wisdom  saved    us — me    from    worse    than 

death — 
Far  worse  !  and  thee  from  an  eternal  sorrow. 

ELPENOR. 

Alas  !  I  see  !   I  see  ! — 

CHRESTUS. 

Look,  children,  look  ! 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  323 

What  change  hath  come  upon  the  fierce  old  king  ? 
He  kneels,  he  foams,  the  Gods  have  stricken  him. 

LYCANDER. 

Hush  !  hush  !  I  hear  their  footsteps  in  the  hall. 
Your  voices  will  attract  them  hither — hush ! 

ELPENOR,  (stabbing  him.) 

Hence  to  thy  Furies,  miscreant ! 

AGATHE. 

Elpenor  ! 

Thou  strikest  a  madman  !  whom  the  Gods  afflict 
Mortals  should  spare. 

ELPENOR. 

No  !  let  him  die.     The  earth 
Groans  with  his  presence  and  the  Furies  seek  him. 

LYCAXDER. 

Not  thou  !  poor  stripling !  but  invisible  powers 
Have  cut  my  life  asunder.     Thee  I  scorn ! 
1  thought  my  blood  was  hot  as  living  fire. 
This   blood— can   it    be    mine  ?     Ah  !   there  they 
come, 


324  A  G  A  T  H  E . 

The  infernal  sisters,  changing  men  to  stone 
By  a  mere  look  !     How  horrible  !     My  heart 
Trembles  with  unimaginable  terror  ! 
Ward  off,  ward  off  the  unutterable  curse  ! 
Their  faces  and  their  garments  drip  with  blood  ; 
The  hissing  snakes  are  wreathing  on  their  heads  ; 
They  raise  at  once  their  scorpion  lashes  at  me  ! 
0  aid  me  to  my  feet  !  0  help  me,  shield  me, 
They    strike,    they   strike,    0   mercy  —  mercy  — 
mercy — 

[Dies. 

CHKESTUS. 

So  terrible  a  death  was  never  witnessed. 

ELPENOB. 

Fit  termination  to  so  foul  a  life  ! 
But  see,  0  see,  his  deadly  work  proceeds 
To  its  sad  consummation.     Agathe  ! 
0  Agathe  !  my  sweetest,  dearest  sister  ! 
Look  up,  speak  to  me. 

AGATHE. 

Now  the  poison  works  ! 
Give  me  your  hands — I  can  not  see  your  eyes— 


A  G  A  T  H  E  .  325 

But  well  I  know  they  are  full  of  love  and  pity. 
Grieve  not,  Elpenor  !     It  is  better  thus ! 
The  vestal  fires  pass  from  my  hands  undimmed, 
The  holy  sanctuary  undefined  ! 
I  die,  as  I  have  lived,  a  spotless  virgin. 
Dear  brother  !  if  hereafter  thou  shouldst  see 
A  lonely  dove  flit  round  the  temple  walls, 
Give  it  my  name  and  feed  it  for  my  sake. 
A  messenger  it  may  be  from  the  Gods 
Presaging  happiness  to  thee  and  thine. 
Would    I    could    kiss    thy    tears    away,    good 

Chrestus  ! 
As    I    now    kiss    thy    hand  !     Farewell !     How 

strange  ! 

How  beautiful  !     The  room  is  full  of  children  ; 
The  very  air  is  full  of  infant  faces, 
So  small,  so  bright,  so  beautiful,  so  many — 
And  see,  Elpenor  !  Chrestus- !  see  afar, 
Before  the  crowded  gateway  of  the  stars, 
Diana  beckons  me  with  shining  hand  ; 
Queen  of  the  silver  bow  !  I  come — I  come — 

[Dies 

[Shouts  and  tumult  without, 
{Enter  THERON. 


326  A  G  A  T  H  E  . 

THEKON. 

Hail    King    Elpenor  !    The    people    crown    thee 

King  ! 
Alas  !  What  double  tragedy  is  this  ? 

ELPENOR. 

Our  tears  inform  thee  better  than  our  words. 
Scepter  and  crown  to-morrow  !     Thank  the  people, 
Kind  Theron,  for  me,  and  bear  hence  this  corse. 
Give  it  good  burial  for  he  was  a  King, 
Although  unworthy.     Leave  me  then  alone. 
My  thought,  my  heart,  my  life  lies  here  to-night. 
0  bright,  pure,  beauteous,  holy  Agathe  ! 

[Exeunt  oil  but  ELPEXOR,  who  kneels  by  the  side  of  AGATHE. 


NOTES 


TO      THE      POEMS 


I. 

"ODE     ON    THE    BIRTH    OF    A    CHILD. 
PAGE  13. 


As  this  Odo  is  pervaded  with  the  spirit  of  the  New  Church  doc 
trine  concerning  Infants  and  Children,  for  its  better  understanding 
and  appreciation  I  cite  here  a  few  passages  from  the  writings  of 
Swedenborg : 

"  That  Infants  are  innocences  is  known :  but  that  their  innocence 
flows  in  from  the  Lord  is  not  known.  It  flows  in  from  the  Lord 
because  He  is  Innocence  Itself,  for  nothing  can  flow  in  or  be  mani 
fested  in  another  except  from  some  prior  principle  or  cause,  which 
is  the  thing  itself. 

(i  The  Innocence  of  the  Lord  flows  into  the  angels  of  the  third 
heaven,  where  all  are  in  the  innocence  of  wisdom,  and  passes 
through  the  inferior  heavens,  but  only  through  the  innocences  of  the 
angels  there,  and  thus  immediately  and  mediately  into  infants:  these 
are  scarcely  any  thing  at  first  but  sculptile  forms,  receptible  of  life 
from  the  Lord  through  the  heavens.  But  unless  the  parents  also 
received  that  influx  in  their  souls  and  in  the  inmosts  of  their  minds, 
in  vain  would  they  be  affected  by  the  innocence  of  infants. — (Con- 
jurjial  Love,  395,  '6.) 

"It  has  been  told  me  from  heaven  that  little  children  are  espe 
cially  under  the  Lord's  auspices,  and  that  there  is  an  influx  from  the 
inmost  heaven  where  the  state  of  innocence  prevails,  which  passes 
through  their  interiors,  affecting  them  in  its  transit.  It  is  from  this 
source  that  innocence  displays  itself  in  their  faces  and  in  some  of 


330  NOTES. 

their  gestures  and  becomes  apparent,  and  it  is  this  which  so  inti 
mately  affects  their  parents,  and  produces  the  peculiar  emotion  called 
parental  love." — (Heaven  and  Hell,  277.) 

"  That  the  sphere  of  the  love  of  infants  is  in  like  manner  universal 
is  manifest  from  that  love  in  the  heavens  where  there  arc  infants 
from  the  earth,  and  from  that  love  in  the  world  with  men,  with 
beasts  and  birds,  serpents  and  insects.  Things  analogous  to  this 
love  are  also  manifested  in  the  vegetable  and  mineral  kingdoms ;  in 
the  vegetable  in  that  seeds  are  guarded  with  shells  as  with  swath- 
ing-bands,  and  moreover  are  in  the  fruit  as  in  a  house,  and  are 
nourished  with  juice  as  with  milk.  That  something  like  this  is  in 
minerals  is  manifest  from  the  matrices  and  the  cases  in  which  the 
noble  gems  and  metals  are  stored  up  and  guarded. 

"  That  innocence  effects  similar  things  with  beasts  and  birds  as 
with  men  is  known.  The  reason  that  it  produces  similar  effects  is 
because  every  thing  which  proceeds  from  tJie  Lord  in  an  instant  per 
vades  the  universe.  And  because  it  proceeds  by  discreet  degrees  and 
continual  mediations,  therefore  it  passes  not  only  to  animals,  but 
even  beyond,  to  vegetables  and  minerals.  It  passes  even  into  the 
earth  itself,  which  is  the  mother  of  all  vegetables  and  minerals;  for 
this  in  the  time  of  Spring  is  in  a  state  prepared  for  the  reception  of 
seeds  as  it  were  in  the  womb ;  and  when  it  has  received,  it  as  it 
were  conceives,  cherishes  them,  carries  in  the  womb,  brings  forth, 
suckles,  nourishes,  clothes,  educates,  guards,  and  as  it  were  loves  the 
progeny  from  them,  and  so  on." — (Conjugial  Love,  389-397.) 

"  What  innocence  is  and  what  is  its  nature  is  known  to  few  in  the 
worl  1,  and  not  at  all  to  thoso  who  are  immersed  in  evil  It  appears, 
indeed,  before  men's  eyes,  displaying  itself  in  the  face,  speech  and 
gestures,  more  especially  of  littb  children;  but  still  what  it  consists 
in  is  not  known,  much  less  that  it  is  the  principle  in  which  heaven 
inrnoslly  abides  with  man." — (Heaven  and  Ildl,  276.) 

"  Be  it  known,  therefore,  that  every  infant  or  little  child,  let  him 
be  born  where  he  may,  in  the  church  or  out  of  it,  whether  of  pious 


NOTES.  331 

or  of  wicked  parents,  is  received  by  the  Lord  whoa  he  dies  and  is 
educated  in  heaven,  where  he  is  instructed  according  to  Divine 
order,  and  is  imbued  with  affections  of  goo  J,  and  through  them  with 
knowledge  of  truth.  Every  person  who  thinks  from  reason  may  l<e 
aware  that  no  one  is  born  for  hell,  but  all  for  heaven,  and  that  if  a 
man  goes  to  hell  the  blame  is  his  own,  but  that  no  blame  can  attach 
to  infants  or  little  children." — (Htaven  and  HM,  329.) 

'•  As  soon  as  infants  are  resuscitated,  which  takes  place  immedi 
ately  after  their  decease,  they  are  carried  up  into  heaven,  and  are 
committed  to  the  care  of  angels  of  the  female  sex,  who  in  th?  life  of 
the  body  had  been  influenced  by  a  tender  love  for  little  children  and 
at  the  same  time  by  love  for  God.  As  these  angels  had  while  in  the 
world  loved  all  infants  with  a  tenderness  like  that  of  their  mothers, 
they  receive  the  little  ones  committed  to  their  charge  as  if  they  were 
their  own ;  and  the  infants  on  their  part,  from  an  inherent  inclina 
tion,  love  them  in  return  as  their  mothers.  Every  one  has  as  many 
infants  under  her  caro  as  i'lom  spiritual  maternal  love  she  desires." — 
(Heaven  and  Hell,  332.) 

"  The  state  of  infants  in  the  other  life  far  surpasses  that  of  infants 
in  the  world,  because  they  are  not  invested  with  a  terrestrial  body, 
but  with  one  like  those  of  the  angels.  The  terrestrial  body  in  itself 
is  heavy  or  dull.  It  does  not  receive  its  first  sensations  and  first 
motions  from  the  interior  or  spiritual  world,  but  from  the  exterior  or 
natural,  on  which  account  infants  in  the  world  must  learn  to  walk, 
to  use  their  limbs  and  talk,  and  even  the  senses,  as  those  of  sight 
and  hearing,  must  be  opened  in  them  by  use.  Not  so  in  the  other 
life.  There,  being  spirits,  they  immediately  begin  to  act  according 
to  their  interiors.  They  walk  without  previous  practice,  and  talk 
with  the  same  readiness,  only  they  speak  at  first  from  common  or 
general  affections,  not  yet  perfectly  distinguished  into  ideas  of 
thought ;  but  they  are  speedily  initiated  into  these  also,  and  the 
reason  this  is  so  easily  effected  is  because  their  exteriors  are  homo 
geneous  to  the  interiora" — (Heaven  and  Hell,  331.) 


332  NOTES. 

"It  may  seem  a  paradox,  nevertheless  it  is  most  true,  that  the 
angels  have  a  clearer  and  fuller  understanding  of  the  internal  sense 
of  the  Word  when  it  is  read  by  little  boys  and  girls  than  when  it  is 
read  by  grown-up  persons  who  arc  not  principled  in  faith  grounded 
in  charity.  The  reason  is,  as  I  have  been  informed,  because  little 
children  are  in  a  state  of  mutual  love  and  innocence,  consequently 
their  receptive  vessels  are  extremely  tender  and  almost  of  a  celestial 
nature,  so  as  to  be  pure  faculties  of  reception,  which  are  therefore 
capable  of  being  disposed  by  the  Lord  for  the  purpose,  although  this 
does  not  come  to  their  consciousness,  except  by  a  certain  sensation  of 
delight  suitable  to  their  state  and  genius." — (Arcana  Ccelestia,  177G.) 

"  So  long  as  goodness  and  truth  are  possessed  by  man,  whether  it 
be  ha  his  childhood  or  in  any  other  period  of  his  life,  evils  and  falsi 
ties  can  effect  nothing ;  that  is,  evil  spirits  can  not  attempt  to  do 
any  thing  or  to  inject  any  evil.  This  is  very  evident  in  the  case  of 
infants,  of  well-disposed  children  and  of  simple-hearted  persons,  with 
whom  although  evil  spirits  or  the  very  worst  of  the  diabolical  crew 
were  present,  still  they  could  not  affect  any  thing,  but  are  kept  in 
subjection.  The  reason  why  at  this  time  they  are  in  a  state  of  sub 
jection  or  servitude  is,  because  man  has  not  yet  acquired  to  himself 
a  sphere  of  lusts  and  falsities.  For  it  is  not  allowed  evil  spirits  and 
genii  to  operate,  except  on  those  things  which  man  has  actually 
procured  to  himself,  not  upon  those  which  he  receives  hereditarily ; 
wherefore  before  man  procures  to  himself  such  spheres  the  evil 
spirits  are  in  servitude,  but  as  soon  as  ever  he  does,  then  the  evil 
spirits  infuse  themselves  into  him  and  endeavor  to  obtain  the  do 
minion." — (Arcana  Ccdestia,  1667.) 

"  That  goodness  is  the  principle  which  first  of  all  is  appropriated 
to  man,  is  manifest  from  his  infancy  and  early  childhood ;  for  it  is 
well  known  that  at  that  time  he  has  the  good  of  innocence  and  the 
good  of  love  towards  his  parents  and  nurses,  and  the  good  of  charity 
towards  infant  companions.  The  good  flows  in  from  the  Lord  with 
infants,  that  it  may  serve  in  after  years  for  the  first  principle  of  thf 


NOTES.  333 

Lord's  life  appertaining  to  man,  and  thereby  for  a  plane  to  receive 
truths ;  this  also  is  preserved  with  man  when  he  grows  up,  if  he  does 
not  destroy  it  by  a  life  of  evil  and  faith  in  the  false  thence  derived." — 
(Arcana  Codestia,  10-110.) 

"  In  order  to  the  better  understanding  of  the  nature  of  remains, 
let  it  be  observed  that  they  arc  not  only  the  goods  and  truths  which 
a  man  has  learnt  from  his  infancy,  out  of  the  Lord's  Word,  and 
which  were  thereby  impressed  on  his  memory,  but  they  are  likewise 
all  states  thence  derived — as  states  of  innocence  from  infancy — states 
of  love  towards  parents,  brothers,  teachers  and  friends — states  of 
charity  towards  the  neighbor,  and  also  of  mercy  towards  the  poor  and 
needy ;  in  a  word,  all  states  of  goodness  and  truth.  These  states, 
with  their  goods  and  truths  impressed  on  the  memory,  are  called 
remains,  which  remains  are  preserved  in  man  by  the  Lord,  and  are 
stored  up,  unconsciously  to  himself,  in  his  internal  man,  and  are  care 
fully  separated  from  the  things  of  man's  proprium,  that  is,  from  evils 
and  falses.  All  these  states  are  so  preserved  in  man  by  the  Lord 
that  there  is  not  the  smallest  of  them  lost." — (Arcana  Cadeslia,  561.) 

"  Metals  are  equally  significative  with  all  other  things  in  the 
Word.  Gold  in  the  Word  signifies  celestial  good,  which  is  inmost 
good.  Hence  it  was  that  the  ancients,  who  were  skilled  in  the 
science  of  correspondences,  called  the  ages  after  the  metals.  The 
first  age  they  called  the  golden  age  because  then  reigned  innocence 
and  love  and  thence  wisdom." — (Apocalypse  Explained,  70.) 

"  Because  these  angels  (those  of  the  Golden  Age.  or  Most  Ancient 
Church)  were  of  such  a  character,  they  dwell  nearest  to  the  Lord, 
from  whom  their  innocence  is  derived ;  they  also  are  separated  from 
their  proprium,  so  that  they  live  as  it  were  in  the  Lord.  In  out 
ward  ibrm  they  appear  simple  and  to  the  eyes  of  angels  of  the  infe 
rior  heavens  as  little  children,  thus,  as  of  small  stature.  They  also 
appear  not  to  possess  much  wisdom,  though  they  are  the  wisest  of 
the  angels  of  heaven.  These  angels  also  are  naked,  because  naked 
ness  corresponds  to  innocence. — (Heaven  and  Hell,  280.) 


334  NOTES. 

II. 

"OUR    THREE    CHILDREN." 

PAGE  27. 
"Our  gold,  our  myrrh,  our  frankincense." 

"  BY  gold,  frankincense  and  myrrh  are  signified  all  things  which 
relate  to  the  good  of  love  and  faith  in  the  Lord ;  by  gold  the  things 
which  are  of  the  good  of  love,  by  frankincense  the  things  which  are 
of  the  good  of  faith,  and  by  myrrh  the  things  which  are  of  each  in 
externals.  The  reason  why  the  wise  ones  from  the  East  offered 
those  tilings  was.  because  amongst  some  of  the  orientals  from  ancient 
times  there  remained  the  science  and  wisdom  of  the  ancients,  which 
consisted  in  knowing  and  seeing  celestial  and  divine  tlyngs  in  those 
things  which  are  in  the  world  and  upon  the  earth.  For  it  was  a 
thing  known  to  the  ancients  that  all  natural  things  corresponded  to 
spiritual  things,  and  were  representative  and  thus  significative,  as  is 
also  evident  from  the  most  ancient  books  and  monuments  of  the  Gen 
tiles.  Hence  it  was  that  they  knew  that  gold,  frankincense  and 
myrrh  signified  the  goods  (good  affections  and  thoughts)  which  were 
to  be  offered  to  God." — (Swedenborg's  Arcana  Coelestia,  92,  93.) 


III. 

"CHILDHOOD ." 
PAGE  31. 

"  THERE  are  certain  societies  of  Angels,  and  those  many  in  num 
ber,  which  have  the  care  of  infants.  They  are  chiefly  of  the  female 
sex,  consisting  of  such  as  in  the  life  of  the  body  have  had  the  most 
tender  love  towards  infants.  These  angelic  spirits  discoursed  more 
over  concerning  infants  on  earth,  declaring  that  immediately  on  their 
nativity  there  are  angels  attendant  on  them  from  the  heaven  of  inno- 


NOTES.  335 

ccnce,  and  in  the  succeeding  age  angels  from  the  hoavon  of  the  tran- 
quility  of  peace,  afterwards  angels  from  the  societies  of  charity,  and 
next  other  angels  in  proportion  as  innocence  and  charity  decrease 
with  the  infant  children,  and  lastly,  when  they  become  more  adult 
and  enter  into  a  life  alienated  from  charity,  angels  indeed  are  pre 
sent,  but  more  remotely,  and  this  according  to  the  ends  of  life  which 
the  angels  direct  by  continually  insinuating  good  ends  and  averting 
evil  ones ;  and  in  proportion  as  they  are  able  or  unable  to  affect  this, 
their  influx  is  nearer  or  more  remote." — (Swedenborg's  Arcana  Ccdes- 
tia,  2,302,  3.) 


TV. 
"THE    CHILD    AND    THE    RIVULET." 

PAGE  51. 

"  THAT  there  is  a  relation  to  man  in  all  tilings  of  the  created  uni 
verse,  may  indeed  be  known  from  what  has  been  adduced,  but  can 
only  be  seen  obscurely ;  whereas  in  the  spiritual  world  it  is  seen 
clearly.  In  that  world  also  there  are  all  things  of  the  three  kingdoms, 
in  the  midst  of  which  is  the  angel,  who  sees  them  about  him,  and 
knows  that  they  are  representations  of  himself;  yea,  when  the  in 
most  principle  of  his  understanding  is  opened  he  knows  himself  and 
sees  his  image  in  them  as  in  a  glass." — (Swedenborg's  Divine  Love 
and  Wisdom,  63.) 


V. 

"TO    A    ROSE." 

PAGE  GG. 

"  Heaven,  in  the  Word  in  its  internal  sense,  does  not  signify  the 
heaven  or  sky  which  is  apparent  to  the  eyes  of  the  body,  but  the 
kingdom  of  the  Lord  universally  and  particularly.  He  who  looks  at 


336  NOTES. 

tilings  internal  from  those  that  are  external,  when  he  views  the 
heavens  or  sky,  docs  not  think  at  all  of  the  starry  heaven  but  of  tho 
angelic  heaven.  When  he  beholds  the  sun,  he  doos  not  think  of  tho 
sun,  but  of  the  Lord  as  the  sun  of  heaven.  So  when  he  sees  tho 
moon  and  the  stars  also,  yea,  when  he  beholds  the  immensity  of  the 
heavens  he  does  not  think  of  material  immensity,  but  of  the  immense 
and  infinite  power  of  the  Lord;  so  also  in  other  instances,  since  there 
is  nothing  but  what  is  representative.  He  likewise  regards  earthly 
objects  in  the  same  view.  Thus,  when  he  beholds  the  first  dawn  of 
the  morning  light,  he  does  not  think  of  the  day-dawn,  but  of  the  rise 
of  all  things  from  the  Lord,  and  their  progression  to  the  full  day  of 
wisdom.  In  like  manner  when  he  looks  on  gardens,  shrubberies,  and 
beds  of  flowers,  his  eye  is  not  confined  to  any  particular  tree,  its 
blossom,  leaf  or  fruit,  but  he  is  led  to  a  contemplation  of  the  celestial 
things  represented  by  them,  neither  does  he  behold  only  the  flowers, 
their  beauties  and  elegancies,  but  is  led  also  to  regard  the  things 
which  they  represent  in  the  other  life ;  for  there  is  not  a  single  object 
existing  in  the  sky  or  in  the  earth  which  is  beautiful  and  agreeable, 
but  what  is  in  some  way  representative  of  the  Lord's  kingdom." — 
(Arcana  Coelestia,  1,807.) 

"  I  have  discoursed  with  the  angels  concerning  representatives, 
observing  to  them  that  in  the  vegetable  kingdom  on  earth  there  is 
nothing  but  what  in  some  measure  represents  the  kingdom  of  the 
Lord.  They  replied  that  every  thing  in  the  vegetable  kingdom  which 
is  beautiful  and  ornamental  derives  its  origin  through  heaven  from 
the  Lord,  and  that  when  the  celestial  and  spiritual  things  of  the 
Lord  flow  into  nature,  such  objects  of  beauty  and  ornament  are  actu 
ally  created,  and  that  thence  proceeds  the  vegetative  soul  or  life. 
Hence  also  come  representatives,  but  this,  being  unknown  in  the 
world,  was  called  a  heavenly  arcanum." — (Arcana  Ctzkstia,  1,632.) 


NOTES.  337 

VI. 

"THE    WILD    RE-UNION." 
PAGE  86. 

Tins  Poem,  which  may  appear  strange  or  mystical  to  some  read 
ers,  is  designed  to  illustrate  the  impossibility  of  divorcing  the  Good 
from  the  True.  The  union  of  the  Good  and  True  is  the  heavenly 
marriage  so  frequently  mentioned  by  Swedenborg,  and  so  constantly 
alluded  to  in  the  internal  sense  of  the  Bible.  It  is  indeed  by  the 
unition  of  the  Will-principle  or  living  element  with  the  Understand 
ing-principle  or  thinking  element  that  every  useful  or  practical  effect 
is  brought  about  either  in  the  spiritual  or  natural  worlds.  The  es 
sential  point  in  regeneration  is  the  cooperation  of  the  Understanding 
illuminated  by  Divine  Wisdom,  a  light  with  the  Will  actuated  or 
impelled  by  Divine  Love  or  heat.  The  same  heavenly  marriage  is 
represented  by  the  union  of  Father  and  Son — by  the  mystical  love 
of  the  Lord  and  his  Church — and  universally  by  the  conjugal  relation, 
in  which  woman  represents  the  Will  and  man  the  Understanding. 

Every  thought,  or  truth  which  is  an  object  of  thought,  has  a  cor 
responding  emotional  state  of  the  soul  or  love,  created  with  and 
organically  attached  to  it.  We  are  "  saved  by  faith,"  because  the 
truths  of  the  Word  stored  up  in  the  mind  call  down  from  heaven 
their  corresponding  good  states  of  the  life,  which  we  generalize  as 
the  Christian  graces  and  virtues. 

The  masculine  and  feminine  elements  of  the  conjugial  love  exper 
ience  super-eminently  this  organic  attraction  after  an  eternal  unition. 
Separated  forcibly  for  awhile  by  evil  influences,  the  emotional  ele 
ment  is  represented  in  the  poem  as  reappearing  in  its  body,  which  it 
reanimates  simply  to  serve  as  a  medium  for  bringing  it  into  contact 
with  its  corresponding  intellectual  principle.  Contact  having  been 
effected,  spiritual  attraction  prevails  over  mere  chemical  affinity,  and 
the  spirits  are  supposed  to  ascend  to  heaven  together. 

15 


340  NOTES. 

IX. 

"MYSTIC 

PAGE  185. 

This  Poem  refers  to  the  New  Church  doctrine  of  regeneration ;  but 
as  the  subject  is  metaphysical  in  its  nature,  I  have  here  given  the 
truth  but  a  poor  and  inadequate  expression.  The  following  brief 
explication  will  perhaps  enable  the  reader  to  see  the  Poem  in  a  better 
light. 

The  "dead"  are  the  spiritually  dead,  even  while  living  in  the 
natural  world.  The  ''resurrection,"  or  progress  from  death  unto 
life — in  other  words,  regeneration,  takes  place  by  union  with  the 
Divine  Humanity  of  our  Lord.  Jehovah,  the  Father,  or  Divine 
Love,  took  on  himself  a  weak  and  infirm  human  nature  derived  from 
the  Virgin  Mary — subject  to  all  of  our  trials  and  temptations,  yet 
without  sin.  This  human  nature  is  called  Christ,  or  the  Son  of  God. 
Thus  the  "  beautiful  Ideal"  becomes  incarnate  in  the  "  grosser  Real." 
Christ  purifies  and  elevates  this  infirm  human  nature,  "the  Father 
working  in  him" — making  it  fully  Divine,  "re-molding  it  by  pat 
terns  from  above."  We  are  to  "follow  him  in  the  regeneration;"  as 
the  Father  worked  through  him  so  he  is  to  work  through  us.  In 
other  words  he  gives  us  a  new  internal  or  spiritual  man,  and  wo  are 
to  bring  our  external  or  natural  life  into  strict  accordance  and  cor 
respondence  with  it — so  that  it  shall  resemble  the  mystic  union  of 
soul  and  body.  This  labor  of  regeneration  is  represented  by  the  six 
days  of  creation  followed  by  the  "  Sabbath"  of  victory  and  repose. 
"  Heaven  and  earth"  represent  our  inner  and  outer,  or  spiritual  and 
natural  life  thus  brought  into  operative  harmony. 


NOTES.  341 

X. 

"DESCENSUS    AVERNI." 
PAGE  198. 

Tins  Poem  is  written  in  accordance  with  the  science  of  corres 
pondence,  and  conveys  spiritual  instruction  through  the  medium  of 
natural  imagery.  The  subject  is  the  origin  of  evil,  or  the  fall  from 
heaven,  and  involves  the  same  spiritual  truths  which  are  concealed 
in  the  narrative  of  Eve's  temptation  and  the  expulsion  from  the  gar 
den  of  Eden.  I  will  recapitulate  them  in  condensed  form,  referring 
the  inquisitive  reader  to  the  first  volume  of  Swedeuborg's  Arcana, 
Cccleslia  for  a  luminous  exposition  of  this  most  difficult  question  iu 
Revealed  Religion. 

The  essential  feature  in  the  process  here  described  is  the  passage 
of  the  soul  from  a  spiritual  into  a  natural  state  of  life — which  is  a 
descent  from  an  interior  or  higher  to  an  exterior  or  lower  plane  of 
thought  and  affection.  To  make  this  more  clear  we  must  briefly 
define  the  difference  between  the  spiritual  and  the  natural  man. 

The  spiritual  man  occupies  an  interior  stand-point,  and  he  thinks 
of  nature  from  the  Lord  as  a  fixed  center.  Nature  is  to  him  a  grand  < 
panorama  or  mirror  wherein  are  objectively  seen  represented  the 
myriads  of  spiritual  things  which  belong  to  the  Lord's  kingdom. 
This  is  the  condition  of  the  angels  in  heaven,  and  was  also  the  first 
state  of  men  upon  earth.  By  becoming  natural  or  external  men 
they  fell.  The  natural  man  occupies  an  exterior  stand-point  and 
views  the  Lord  and  all  things  of  his  spiritual  kingdom  from  Nature 
as  a  fixed  center,  consequently  either  not  at  all  or  in  great  obscurity, 
lie  interprets  every  thing  in  a  sensuous  manner,  and  finally  ends  in 
believing  nothing  which  he  can  not  see,  hear,  taste  or  handle,  and 
make  the  subject  of  physical  experiment  or  analysis.  Indeed,  so 
spiritually  blinded  does  he  become  that  in  his  infatuation  ho  calls 
this  gross  naturalism  the  highest  wisdom.  He  can  not  conceive  that 


342  NOTES. 

the  human  iniud  was  ever  constituted  so  differently  as  precisely  to 
reverse  his  favorite  mode  of  philosophizing,  and  at  last  any  thing 
like  spiritual  thought  he  denounces  as  mysticism. 

How  did  man  fall  from  the  lofty  state  of  intuition  or  spiritual  per 
ception  of  truth  ?  By  listening  to  the  seductions  of  the  senses.  The 
evidence  of  the  senses,  unenlightened  by  a  higher  spiritual  and  re 
vealed  philosophy,  which  explains  the  senses  themselves,  must  lead 
entirely  astray.  Many  things  appear  to  the  senses  to  be  true  which 
are  only  apparently  true,  and  the  great  mass  of  truths  never  appear 
to  the  senses  at  all.  The  sun  appears  to  revolve  around  the  earth 
but  does  not ;  the  heavens  above  appear  to  terminate  in  a  blue  vault 
but  do  not.  Objects  appear  to  be  in  rapid  motion  and  we  ourselves 
appear  to  be  stationary,  when  the  very  reverse  may  be  the  case. 
Sensation  appears  to  reside  in  the  surface  of  our  bodies,  but  its  real 
seat  is  far  within ;  much  deeper  indeed  than  the  natural  body  itself. 
Our  thoughts  appear  to  originate  spontaneously  with  ourselves,  yet 
they  have  come  to  us  always  by  influx  from  angels  and  spirits.  Our 
life  appears  to  be  our  own,  inherent  with  and  inseparable  from  our 
organization,  and  yet  the  Lord  alone  has  life  and  we  are  merely  re 
cipient  vessels  or  organs  of  life.  Man  by  thinking  naturally  or  sen- 
.  suously  divorces  his  mind  from  faith  in  God  and  from  insight  into 
spiritual  things,  and  finally  natural  appetites  supercede  spiritual 
aspirations,  and  from  being  merely  sensuous  in  thought  he  becomes 
sensual  in  life. 

In  the  Poem  before  us,  as  in  every  jot  and  tittle  of  the  Biblical 
narrative  of  the  fall,  these  great  truths  are  typified.  The  youth  wan 
dering  from  the  "  holy  meridian"  of  heaven  down  to  its  crystalline 
borders,  represents  the  Understanding  gradually  receding  from  the 
interior  to  the  exterior  stand-point  above  specified,  as  from  the 
center  to  the  circumference  of  a  circle.  It  is  then  that  it  begins  to 
doubt  and  ponder  upon  the  "awful  riddle  of  life."  In  this  state  heav 
enly  things  (and  the  Lord  in  them)  which  have  been  received  im 
plicitly  and  perfectly  into  childlike  affections,  become  to  be  made 


NOTES.  343 

the  matters  of  intellectual  investigation.     In  hieroglyphic  language, 
the  sun  "dwindles  to  a  star,"  charity  is  becoming  mere  faith. 

Pursuing  its  researches  into  the  outermost  or  natural  sphere  of 
life,  the  Understanding  yields  itself  up  to  the  guidance  of  the  senses. 
The  serpent  in  all  ancient  writings,  hieroglyphic,  mythical  or  corre- 
spondential,  represents  our  sensuous  sphere  of  thought,  or  the  mode 
of  philosophyzing  from  the  evidence  of  the  senses.  This  serpent  tells 
us  that  it  is  not  God's  life  but  our  own  life  which  animates  us,  and 
we  forthwith  "  become  as  gods"  in  our  own  eyes,  and  begin  a  life 
separate  from  God.  His  leading  the  Youth  to  a  fountain  of  water 
wherein  he  has  injected  his  poison,  indicates  that  the  Understanding 
becomes  deceived  by  the  appeal  which  the  senses  make  to  merely 
natural  or  apparent  truth,  water  representing  that  truth.  The  inter 
ference  of  the  Dove  represents  the  effort  of  some  remains  of  innocence 
with  its  intuitional  light  to  reject  the  subtle  sophistries  of  the  senses. 
The  change  in  his  external  world  is  representative  of  the  difference 
between  thinking  spiritually  and  thinking  naturally.  The  change 
first  happens  in  his  mind,  and  then  by  correspondence  in  the  things 
which  appear  around  him.  The  "  crystalline  walls"  have  become  a 
mere  "iron  door,"  and  "the  cataract  of  God's  Light  is  changed  to 
"  a  region  of  stone-heaps  and  shadows."  Doubt,  darkness,  confu 
sion  have  succeeded  to  the  order  and  beauty  of  angelic  life  and  the 
light  of  angelic  wisdom. 


XI. 

"THE    MAGIC    GARDEN. 
PAGE  202. 

Tins  Poem  and  the  "  Descensus  Averni"  were  written  to  illus 
trate  the  most  ancient  style  of  composition  in  the  world,  viz.,  by  cor 
respondences.  Natural  objects,  whether  singly  or  in  groups,  various 
and  shifting  scenery  and  transformations,  even  the  historical  devel- 


344  NOTES. 

opment  of  facts,  may  be  used  as  the  mediums  or  vehicles  for  spiritual 
thought.  This  interior  thought  is  not  visible  on  the  surface,  and  is 
only  brought  out  by  the  proper  key,  namely,  a  knowledge  of  the 
science  of  correspondences.  The  whole  Bible  was  written  on  this 
principle,  and  Swedenborg  has  not  invented  but  re-discovered  the 
key  which  was  lost.  One  familiar  with  Swedenborg's  expositions 
will  see  the  meaning  of  this  Poem  almost  at  a  glance,  but  for  those 
to  whom  the  whole  principle  is  still  au  unrevealed  secret,  I  here  ap 
pend  a  brief  statement  of  the  internal  or  spiritual  sense. 

VERSE  IST. — There  is  a  spiritual  state  of  mind  based  upon  good 
affections,  and  elevated  far  above  the  sensuous  sphere,  concealed 
from  the  uninitiated  or  merely  natural  man  by  a  cloud  or  veil  of  literal 
appearances.  "  Garden"  throughout  the  Bible  represents  a  state  of 
intelligence  and  wisdom.  The  "  air"  indicates  its  spirituality  or  ele 
vation.  Upheld  by  "mountains,"  signifies  based  upon  affection;  the 
"  mountain  of  the  Lord"  means  a  state  of  lofty  and  sublime  love  to 
God.  "  Clouds"  invest  or  envelop  interior  things — as  the  letter  of 
the  Word  does  its  internal.  Our  Lord's  coming  in  "  the  clouds  of 
heaven"  at  the  latter  day  means  that  he  will  elucidate  the  true  mean 
ing  of  the  letter  by  the  descent  and  manifestation  of  the  internal 
sense  or  spiritual  signification  from  within.  These  meanings  are  not 
arbitrary  but  fixed  and  eternal. 

VERSE  2o. — In  that  state  of  spiritual  intelligence  we  perceive  that 
what  we  call  Nature  or  the  outward  world  is  always  merely  phenom 
enal  and  representative  of  interior  things,  and  not  actually  causative 
or  existing  of  itself. 

VERSES  SD  AND  4TH. — The  only  real  and  eternal  things  are  the 
organic  forms  of  the  soul  and  their  infinitely  varying  states,  which 
by  peculiar  spiritual  laws  are  scenically  projected  or  made  to  appear 
as  it  were  out  of  the  mind  and  independent  of  it.  This  objective  world 
is  the  image  of  the  subjective  one,  every  natural  object  in  it  represent 
ing  and  being  caused  by  some  spiritual  form  or  essence  in  the  mind. 


NOTES.  345 

VERSE  5xu. — When  in  this  elevated  sphere  of  thought  we  ponder 
upon  the  great  question  of  Duty,  the  "  sacred  enigma"  why  we  are 
here,  and  what  we  are  to  do  ?  we  are  instructed  from  within  by 
symbolic  scenes  having  a  most  beautiful  and  apparently  independent 
extorneity  or  outness. 

VERSE  Gin. — Our  unregenerate  ruling  love  or  passion  appears  to 
us  in  the  most  enchanting  form.  "Woman  always  represents  the 
affectional  element. 

VERSES  7xn  AND  STH. — The  unregenerate  Understanding  or  Intel 
lect  recognizes  as  exceedingly  beautiful  and  fascinating  that  form  of 
evil  affection  which  corresponds  to  itself,  and  which  it  surveys  from 
its  own  false  stand-point. 

VERSES  OTH  AND  lOTir. — This  love  of  self  and  the  world  would 
teach  us  that  it  is  right  and  the  dictate  of  heaven  for  us  to  be  guided 
by  our  own  natural  instincts  and  passional  attractions,  and  its  influx 
produces  in  the  sphere  of  consciousness  the  most  disorderly  emo 
tions,  which  must  terminate  in  sorrow  and  shame,  although  pro 
nounced  supremely  delightful  by  the  unregenerate  mind. 

VERSE  HTH. — Every  thing  beautiful  to  the  eye  or  fragrant  to  the 
sense  is  the  outbirth  of  some  good  affection  flowing  from  the  Lord 
and  received  into  the  souls  of  angels  or  men. 

VERSE  12m. — The  Church  of  the  Lord,  or  the  organic  embodiment 
of  Good  and  Truth,  so  as  to  be  presented  to  the  intellectual  con 
sciousness,  (in  the  individual  soul  represented  by  love  to  the  Lord 
and  the  neighbor)  appears  under  the  form  of  a  beautiful  virgin. 

VERSE  13TH. — She  offers  for  our  spiritual  reception  and  apprecia 
tion  the  pure  truths  of  the  Word,  the  simple  and  precious  treasures 
of  Revelation,  unfalsified  by  love  of  self  and  the  world. 

VERSE  14m — This  is  the  true  and  living  water,  that  blessed 
spiritual  truth  which  inculcates  that  conjoined  exercise  of  faith 
and  charity  which  is  the  heavenly  marriage  productive  of  eternal 
peace. 

VERSE  15m. — The  False  springing  from  the  evil  detests  the  Truth 
15* 


346  NOTES. 

which  emanates  from  the  Good.  Truth  feels  only  a  tender  compas 
sion  for  the  False. 

VEKSE  16TH. — The  Church  of  the  Lord  is  our  spiritual  mother, 
who  nourishes  us  with  her  sacred  truths  and  draws  us  into  a  life  of 
cheerful  obedience  by  gently  leading  our  affections. 

VEKSE  lira — "We  are  enlightened  by  the  spiritual  truths  of  the 
Church  to  perceive  that  the  love  of  self  and  the  world  is  really  a 
despicable,  miserable  creature,  which,  under  a  false  show  of  superior 
pleasure,  is  actually  tortured  by  the  lusts  of  the  s?nses. 

VERSE  ISrn. — And  that  said  self  love  is  the  deeply  hidden  cause 
of  all  the  hideous  or  poisonous  objects  in  nature,  which  are  created 
as  its  outbirths,  and  correspond  to  all  its  evil  and  selfish  passions. 

VERSE  19xii. — The  spiritual  truths  thus  acquired  are  fixed  among 
the  constellations  of  the  inner  or  heavenly  mind,  and  when  we  de 
scend  to  our  natural  sphere  of  life  again,  our  hearts  are  in  that  state 
of  love  to  the  Lord  and  the  neighbor  which  is  represented  by  pray 
ing  with  our  faces  towards  the  East.  "  Stars"  in  the  Bible  always 
mean  spiritual  truths  or  knowledges  of  interior  things.  The  "  stars 
falling  from  heaven"  mean  the  loss  of  spiritual  intelligence  by  the 
Church,  &c.  The  East  where  the  sun  rises,  in  the  supreme  sense 
means  the  Lord  himself:  in  a  secondary  or  proximate  sense,  it  sig 
nifies  that  heavenly  frame  of  mind  in  which  we  are  receptive  of  his 
divine  life  in  our  hearts :  hence  the  ancient  temples  all  pointed  towards 
the  East,  and  praying  with  the  face  towards  the  East  was  a  general 
custom  derived  from  correspondence,  and  perpetuated  long  after  the 
\vorshippers  had  lost  a  clear  perception  of  its  original  significance. 


NOTES.  347 

XII. 

"SPIRITUAL    VISION. 
PAGE  207. 

THIS  Poem  is  based  upon  one  of  the  most  beautiful  laws  of  the 
spiritual  world,  viz.,  that  the  objective  scenery  surrounding  a  spirit 
is  not  fixed  as  it  is  in  the  material  world,  but  plastic,  and  the  changes 
which  it  undergoes  are  representative  of  the  subjective  changes 
occurring  in  the  mind  of  the  spirit.  To  illustrate  this  more  plainly, 
I  make  an  extract  from  Swedenborg,  for  which,  although  treating 
of  a  delicate  subject,  I  offer  no  apology,  since  it  is  not  only  artistic 
ally  beautiful  but  pregnant  with  a  moral  lesson  greatly  needed  in 
this  degenerate  age : 

"  I  heard  a  certain  spirit,  a  young  man  fresh  from  the  world,  boast 
ing  himself  of  his  scortations,  and  among  the  insolences  of  his  boast 
ing,  lie  gave  vent  also  to  this,  '  What  is  more  doleful  than  to  imprison 
one's  love,  and  to  live  alone  with  one  woman  ?  And  what  is  more 
delightful  than  to  set  the  love  at  liberty  ?  Do  not  those  things  which 
are  obtained  by  cunning,  deceit  and  furtive  arts  delight  the  inmosts 
of  the  mind  ?'  On  hearing  these  things  the  by-standers  said,  Do  not 
speak  thus ;  you  know  not  where  you  are,  and  with  whom  you  are ; 
you  have  but  lately  come  hither :  hell  is  under  your  feet  and  over 
your  head  is  heaven.  You  are  now  in  the  world  which  is  mediate 
between  these  two,  and  is  called  the  world  of  spirits.  Here  arrive 
and  here  are  collected  all  who  depart  from  the  world,  and  here  they 
are  explored  as  to  their  quality,  and  the  evil  are  prepared  for  hell 
and  the  good  for  heaven.  Perhaps  also  you  were  taught  by  preach 
ings  in  the  world,  that  whoremongers  and  harlots  are  cast  down  into 
nell,  and  that  chaste  consorts  are  elevated  into  heaven.  At  this  the 
new  comer  laughed,  saying,  '  What  is  heaven  and  what  is  hell  ?  Is 
not  heaven  where  one  is  free  ?  And  is  not  he  free  who  is  permitted 
to  love  as  many  as  he  likes?  And-  is  it  not  hell  where  one  is  a 


348  NOTES. 

slave  ?  And  is  he  not  a  slave  who  is  obliged  to  adhere  to  one  ?' 
But  a  certain  angel  looking  down  from  heaven  heard  this,  and  broke 
off  the  discourse,  lest  it  should  proceed  further  towards  profaning  mar 
riages,  and  he  said  to  him,  Ascend  hither  and  I  will  show  to  the  life 
what  heaven  is  and  what  hell  is,  and  of  what  quality  the  latter  is 
to  confirmed  scortators.  Ho  showed  the  way  and  he  ascended. 
After  reception  he  was  led  first  into  a  paradisal  garden  where  were 
fruit  trees  and  flowers,  which,  from  their  beauty,  pleasantness  and 
fragrance  filled  the  mind  with  the  utmost  delight ;  which,  when  he 
saw,  he  admired  with  great  admiration,  but  he  was  then  in  external 
sight,  such  as  he  was  in  in  the  world,  and  in  this  sight  he  was  ra 
tional,  but  in  internal  sight,  in  which  scortation  took  the  lead  and 
occupied  every  point  of  thought,  he  was  not  rational  For  that 
reason  his  external  sight  was  shut  and  his  internal  sight  was  opened ; 
which,  being  opened,  he  exclaimed,  What  do  I  now  see  ?  Is  not 
this  straw  and  dry  wood  ?  And  what  do  I  now  perceive  ?  are  they 
not  stinking  things?  Where  are  now  the  paradisal  things?  The 
angel  answered ;  They  are  near  and  they  are  present,  but  they  do 
not  appear  before  your  internal  sight  which  is  scortatory,  for  this 
turns  heavenly  things  into  infernal  and  sees  nothing  but  opposites. 
Every  man  has  an  internal  mind  and  an  external  mind,  thus  internal 
sight  and  external  sight.  "With  the  evil,  the  internal  mind  is  insane, 
but  the  external  is  wise ;  but  with  the  good  the  internal  is  wise  and 
from  this  the  external  also:  and  as  the  mind  is,  so  man  in  the  spiritual 
world  sees  objects. 

"  After  this,  the  angel,  from  power  given  him,  shut  up  the  man's 
internal  sight  and  opened  his  external  sight,  and  conducted  him 
where  he  saw  magnificent  palaces  of  alabaster,  marble,  and  various 
precious  stones,  and  beside  them  porticoes,  and  round  about  columns 
overlaid  and  surrounded  with  stupendous  ornaments  and  decorations. 
When  he  saw  these  things,  he  was  amazed  and  said,  What  do  I 
see?  I  see  magnificent  things  in  the  utmost  magnificence,  and 
architectural  things  in  their  very  art — but  at  that  moment  the  angel 


NOTES.  349 

shut  up  his  external  sight  and  opened  the  internal,  which  was  evil, 
because  filthy;  which  being  done,  he  exclaimed,  saying,  What  do  I 
now  see?  Where  am  I?  Where  are  now  the  palaces  and  magni 
ficent  things?  I  see  nothing  but  heaps  of  rubbish  and  cavernous 
places.  But  presently  he  was  brought  back  into  external  sight,  and 
introduced  into  one  of  the  palaces,  and  saw  the  decorations  of  the 
gates,  of  the  windows,  of  the  walls  and  of  the  ceilings,  and  especially 
of  the  utensils,  upon  which  and  around  which  were  heavenly  forms 
of  gold  and  precious  stones,  which  can  not  be  described  by  any 
words,  nor  delineated  by  any  art,  for  they  were  above  the  ideas  of 
language,  and  above  the  conceptions  of  art.  On  seeing  these  things 
he  again  exclaimed,  These  are  more  marvellous  things  than  the  eye 
has  ever  seen.  But  at  this  moment  his  internal  sight  was  opened,  his 
external  sight  being  shut  as  before,  and  he  was  then  asked  what  he 
saw.  Nothing,  he  answered,  but  walls,  here  of  bulrushes,  there  of 
straw,  and  in  another  place  of  burnt  sticks. 

"  But  yet  again  he  was  brought  into  an  external  state  of  mind, 
and  virgins  were  presented  to  him  who  were  beauties  because  images 
of  heavenly  affections,  and  they  addressed  him  with  the  sweet  voice 
of  their  affection ;  and  at  that  moment  from  seeing  and  hearing  them 
his  face  was  changed  and  he  returned  of  himself  into  his  internals, 
which  were  scortatory;  and  because  such  internals  can  not  endure 
any  thing  of  heavenly  love,  and  on  the  other  hand  can  not  be  endured 
by  heavenly  love,  both  parties  vanished,  the  virgins  from  the  sight 
of  the  man,  and  the  man  from  the  sight  of  the  virgins.  After  this 
the  angel  instructed  him  whence  were  the  inversions  of  the  states 
of  his  sight,  saying,  I  perceive  that  in  the  world  from  which  you 
have  come  you  were  double,  one  man  in  externals  and  another  in 
internals;  that  in  externals  you  were  a  civil,  moral  and  rational 
man,  but  in  your  internals  the  reverse,  because  a  whoremonger  and 
an  adulterer,  and  such,  when  they  are  permitted  to  ascend  into 
heaven  and  are  there  held  in  their  externals  can  see  the  heavenly 
things  therein,  but  when  their  internals  are  opened,  in  place  of 


350  NOTES. 

heavenly  things  they  see  infernal  ones.  Know  that,  with  every  ono 
here  the  externals  are  successively  closed  and  the  internals  opened, 
and  thus  they  are  prepared  for  heaven  or  hell.  And  because  the 
evil  of  scortation  denies  the  internals  of  the  mind  above  every  other 
ovil,  it  is  not  possible  that  you  should  not  be  carried  down  to  the 
filthy  things  of  your  love,  and  these  things  are  in  hell.  After  hear 
ing  this  he  descended  and  returned  into  the  world  of  spirits  and  to 
his  former  companions,  to  whom  he  spoke  modestly  and  chastely  but 
still  not  long." — (Conjugial  Love,  477.) 


XIII. 

"THE    SHEPHEED    OF    CYPRUS." 
PAGE  210. 

THIS  Poem  is  written  according  to  the  Science  of  Correspondences, 
and  involves  spiritual  truths  in  its  interior  signification. 

The  general  truth  taught  is  this — that  the  human  soul  in  child 
hood  or  a  state  of  infancy  is  conjoined  with  the  celestial  heavens, 
and  receives  influx  from  thence,  which  by  a  powerful,  subordinating 
control  over  all  natural  passions  prepares  it  for  a  life  on  earth  of  great 
usefulness  and  for  heaven  hereafter. 

The  boy  represents  the  human  mind  as  to  the  understanding  or 
intellectual  principle :  the  girl  represents  the  will  or  emotional  prin 
ciple.  Their  tending  sheep  together  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
represents  their  harmony  in  a  state  of  natural  goodness.  The  num 
ber  of  sheep,  twenty-four,  twelve  to  each,  represents  the  fullness  or 
completeness  of  that  innocent  state.  Thus  prepared  for  the  revela 
tion  and  reception  of  interior  or  spiritual  goodness,  they  cross  the 
stream,  which,  like  the  Jordan  or  river  of  death,  represents  the  boun 
dary  line  between  the  natural  and  spiritual. 

Their  being  attracted  to  the  mountain  summit  by  invisible  music 
represents  that  no  didactic  or  philosophic  impression  is  made  upon 


NOTES.  351 

the  tender  mind  at  this  stage,  but  it  is  operated  upon  through  its 
affections — music  representing  those  interior  emotions  which  can  not 
be  analyzed.  The  tender,  loving  impulses  which  come  over  them  as 
they  ascend  the  mountain,  represent  the  increasing  influx  of  divine  and 
angelic  love  into  the  soul,  corresponding  to  its  spiritual  ascent  or  eleva 
tion  towards  the  celestial  sphere.  St.  John,  the  Apostle  of  Love,  appears 
to  them,  representing  conjunction  with  and  perception  of  the  celestial 
heavens.  Children  on  earth  in  the  innocence  of  ignorance  really  re 
ceive  interior  lessons  and  suggestions  of  celestial  love  from  angels 
who  like  John  have  attained  to  the  innocence  of  wisdom. 

The  soul  now  quickened  and  enlightened  by  such  intercourse  with 
the  highest  heavens,  descends  again  to  the  cares  and  duties  of  life. 
The  Lamb  accompanying  the  will  principle  represents  the  state  of 
innocence  which  is  derived  from  the  Lord.  The  eagle  accompanying 
the  intellectual  principle,  represents  the  strength  and  clearness  of  the 
understanding  in  its  perception  of  spiritual  truth.  The  lion  and  ser 
pent  being  harmless  and  asleep,  represent  that  the  natural  passions 
and  thoughts  are  entirely  subordinated  to  the  spiritual  passions  and 
thoughts  of  a  soul  which  is  truly  regenerated,  or  in  heavenly  order. 

On  crossing  the  magic  line,  spiritual  things  disappear  from  natural 
sight ;  but  the  effect  is  now  visible  in  the  natural  sphere.  The  little 
girl  dies,  or  is  elevated  to  the  celestial  angels  as  John  predicted,  and 
the  boy  becomes  a  disciple  of  John,  and  finally  an  Apostle  of  Truth. 
In  other  words,  the  will  principle  is  truly  and  fully  elevated  into 
heaven,  or  sanctified  whilst  the  understanding  becomes  thereafter  a 
better  and  fitter  medium  and  minister  of  divine  truth. 

The  wild  beasts  by  which  the  holy  old  man  is  devoured  represents 
that  gross,  wicked  and  sensual  character  of  mind  which  not  only  fails 
to  appreciate,  but  ignores,  hates  and  would  always  destroy  every 
manifestation  of  divine  truth.  Greek  and  Koman  Philosophy  was 
of  this  sensuous  and  naturalistic  type,  and  waged  incessant  war 
against  Christian  spirituality,  but  was  extinguished  by  the  more  vital 
power. 


352  NOTES. 

XIV. 

"THE    GRAVEYARD." 

PAGE  232. 

"  The  gvandsire,  from  his  honored  bier, 
Kose  up  to  share  immortal  youth." 

"  THEY  who  dwell  in  heaven  are  continually  advancing  towards 
the  vernal  season  of  life,  and  the  more  thousands  of  years  they  live 
there,  the  more  delightful  and  happy  is  the  state  of  Spring  to  which 
they  attain,  and  this  goes  on  to  eternity  with  continual  increments, 
according  to  the  progressions  and  degrees  of  their  love,  charity  and 
faith.  Those  of  the  female  sex  who  had  died  old  women,  quite  worn 
out  with  age,  but  who  had  lived  in  faith  in  the  Lord,  in  charity  to 
ward  the  neighbor,  and  in  happy  conjugial  love  with  their  husband, 
come  more  and  more  in  the  course  of  years  into  the  flower  of  youth, 
accompanied  with  such  beauty  as  surpasses  every  idea  of  beauty 
perceptible  to  the  sight.  In  ono  word,  in  heaven  to  grow  old  is  to 
grow  young." — (Heaven  and  Hell,  414.) 


XV. 

"NEW    THANATOPSIS." 
PAGE  235. 

I  FIND  the  relations  between  the  spiritual  and  natural  body  of 
man  so  lucidly  described  in  a  little  New  Church  Tract  on  "  Death 
and  the  Resurrection,"  (Philadelphia  Series,  No.  3).  that  I  will  avail 
myself  of  some  of  its  paragraphs  to  give  the  reader  a  clearer  insight 
into  the  philosophic  and  religious  teachings  of  the  Poem. 

"There  is  an  outer  world  and  an  inner;  in  the  one  every  thing, 
even  the  least,  is  material :  in  the  other  every  thing,  even  the  least, 


NOTES.  353 

is  of  spiritual  substance.  These  two  worlds  are  the  creation  of  the 
infinite  and  eternal  Jehovah.  He  has  created  them  from  his  Divine 
love  by  means  of  his  Divine  wisdom,  and  these  two  essentials  of  his 
Divine  nature  are  united  in  every  thing  which  exists  from  him, 
whether  in  the  natural  world  or  in  the  spiritual.  "Whatever,  then, 
of  the  Good  and  True  is  the  object  of  our  senses  in  the  material 
tt-orld  must  be  regarded  as  the  Divine  love  and  wisdom  iu  their 
ultimate  effect ;  and  whatever  of  like  character  exists  in  the  spiritual 
world,  as  these  same  Divine  principles  in  their  higher,  purer  aad 
more  perfect  degrees  of  manifestation.  These  two  worlds  are  most 
intimately  related,  even  as  soul  and  body  in  man.  For  as  the  body  is 
dependent  on  the  soul  or  spirit  for  all  it  has  of  life,  motion  and  use, 
so  is  the  material  world  dependent  on  the  spiritual  world  within  for 
all  it  possesses  of  beauty,  form,  motion,  harmony  and  use.  They 
stand  related  to  each  other  therefore  as  cause  and  effect.  Indeed  all 
the  phenomena  of  this  natural  world  are  so  many  effects  or  combina 
tions  of  effects,  the  ends  and  causes  of  which  must  be  sought  in  the 
spiritual  world.  There  is  not  a  single  thing  in  any  one  of  its  three 
kingdoms,  mineral,  vegetable  or  animal,  which  does  not  derive  its 
origin  from  the  spiritual  world. 

"  The  sun  with  his  heat,  light  and  other  imponderable  agents, 
together  with  the  atmosphere,  waters,  and  all  things  else  existing 
and  subsisting  from  him,  are  so  many  out  forms  (or  outbirths)  of  ele 
ments  and  principles  existing  in  the  spiritual  world,  and,  in  the  lan 
guage  of  the  New  Church,  are  called  correspondences  of  those  things 
which  are  their  prototypes  in  that  world.  This  material  world,  there 
fore,  considered  as  a  whole,  is  but  one  grand  symbol  of  a  still  more 
perfect,  beautiful,  and  glorious  world  within,  and  every  part,  even  in 
its  least,  is  a  correspondence  of  something  existing  in  that  world. 
But  a  truth  which  we  should  most  carefully  keep  before  our  minds 
while  considering  this  subject,  is  that  while  these  worlds  are  thus 
intimately  related  the  one  to  the  other,  they  are  yet  most  distinct 
from  each  other ;  for  what  is  material  can  have  nothing  in  common 


354  NOTES. 

with  what  is  spiritual.  Each  substance  has  its  own  proper  laws, 
and  they  can  no  more  commingle  than  the  thoughts  and  affections 
of  the  mind  can  chemically  combine  with  the  libers  composing  the 
head  and  face  of  the  human  body.  But  while  thus  distinct,  these 
two  worlds  are  most  intimately  conjoined  by  moans  of  the  laws  of 
correspondence,  so  as  to  constitute  in  the  eye  of  him  that  made  them 
but  one  world. 

"  Every  created  being  commences  the  career  of  his  existence  in  the 
material  world,  the  lowest  sphere  of  creation.  Divine  order  requires 
this,  for  there  is  no  angel,  much  loss  any  evil  spirit,  created  such. 
But  every  inhabitant  of  the  spiritual  world,  whether  good  or  evil, 
whether  an  angel  of  the  highest  heaven  or  spirit  of  the  lowest  hell, 
was  once  an  inhabitant  of  some  material  earth,  and  what  he  is  now 
is  the  orderly  consequence  of  what  he  was  while  in  that  state.  The 
order  of  man's  progression  is  from  external  things  to  internal,  from 
natural  things  to  spiritual,  from  earth  to  heaven. 

"  Hence  it  is  that  man  is  endowed  with  a  twofold  nature ;  one 
constituting  him  an  inhabitant  of  the  natural  world,  the  other  of  the 
spiritual  at  one  and  the  same  time.  And  he  possesses  the  senses, 
organs  and  faculties  both  mental  and  bodily,  which  are  adapted  to 
these  t\vo  modes  of  existence.  He  possesses  a  material  body  and 
mental  faculties  connected  with  it,  which  adapt  him  to  this  world 
and  its  uses,  and  within  the  material  a  spiritual  body  with  mental 
faculties  which  adapt  him  to  the  spiritual  world  and  its  uses.  This 
inner  or  spiritual  body,  like  the  outer  or  material,  is  human  in  form. 
It  is  indeed  the  man  himself;  for  it  is  the  form  of  his  mind,  and 
hence  the  dwelling-place  of  his  thoughts  and  affections,  the  subject 
of  all  consciousness,  the  sent  of  the  memory,  and  of  every  other  men 
tal  faculty.  In  fine,  all  that  he  has  thought  and  willed,  said,  learned 
and  done,  enjoyed  and  suffered,  is  treasured  up  within  this  form — 
inscribed  upon  it  in  characters  which  are  indelible.  The  material 
body  in  the  view  of  the  New  Church  is  in  itself  dead,  destitute  alike 
of  motion  and  sensation,  the  passive  instrument  of  the  spiritual  body 


NOTES.  355 

within,  the  medium  through  which  that  body  holds  communion  with 
the  natural  world,  and  acts  and  performs  uses  in  that  world.  It  is 
the  spiritual  not  the  material  body  which  really  sees  and  hears,  feels, 
tastes  and  touches.  The  material  body  is  but  a  tissue  of  fibers,  so 
organized  as  to  permit  the  spiritual  to  receive  these  impressions  from 
the  outer  world. 

"  "With  these  consideratiens  in  view,  we  may  understand  some 
thing  of  the  nature  of  death  and  the  resurrection,  or  how  man  is 
removed  to  the  spiritual  world.  Death  is  but  the  withdrawal  of  the 
spiritual  form  from  the  material,  with  which  it  is  clothed  while  in 
this  world.  When  the  material  body  is  no  longer  capable  of  serving 
the  spiritual  as  a  medium  between  it  and  this  world,  or  when  the 
material  has  fully  served  its  function  in  gathering  up  from  this  world 
all  that  can  ever  be  useful  to  the  indwelling  spiritual,  then  it  is  cast 
off  and  dies,  falls  back  again  into  the  lowest  kingdom  of  the  material 
world,  becomes  subject  once  more  to  the  chemical  and  physical  laws 
of  that  world,  is  resolved  back  into  the  ultimate  elements  and  parti 
cles  of  which  it  is  built  up,  and  thus  enters  into  the  composition  of 
other  material  forms. 

"  But  the  spiritual  body  rises  into  the  world  proper  to  it,  and  which 
is  its  true  and  eternal  home.  All  of  man  that  can  die  is  the  material 
body ;  but  he  himself  can  never  die.  What  is  commonly  called  death 
is  only  the  passage  of  man  from  one  world  to  another.  It  is  simply 
a  fact,  or  as  it  may  be  termed,  a  single  point  in  the  orderly  process 
of  the  spirit's  development ;  a  process  as  strictly  in  accordance  with 
the  laws  of  Divine  order  as  that  by  which  the  caterpillar  is  changed 
into  the  butterfly.  The  caterpillar  contains  within  itself  the  butterfly, 
which  may  at  any  time  bo  disengaged  by  dissection.  While  the 
caterpillar  is  feeding  upon  the  food  proper  to  it,  and  developing  itself, 
the  butterfly  is  also  developing  itself,  and  when  the  caterpillar  dies, 
immediately  breaks  forth  from  its  chrysalid  prison-house,  and  enters 
upon  a  new  and  higher  mode  of  existence,  feeding  upon  finer, 
choicer,  more  exquisite  food  than  before,  and  entering  on  new  and 


356  NOTES. 

higher  uses  and  delights.  But  this  analogy  fails  in  one  very  import 
ant  particular,  which  is,  that  while  the  butterfly,  like  the  caterpillar 
in  which  it  is  for  the  time  enveloped,  is  material,  with  man,  on  the 
contrary,  the  outer  form  alone  is  material,  the  inner  being  spiritual, 
and  having  nothing  in  common  with  material  substance. 

"  The  New  Church  teaches  that  man,  after  having  left  this  world 
and  entered  upon  the  life  of  the  spirit,  never  returns  to  take  upon 
himself  a  material  body ;  for  this  would  be  as  directly  opposed  to 
the  order  of  things  as  for  the  butterfly,  after  sporting  in  the  balmy 
air  of  Spring,  and  roaming  through  fields  of  flowers  and  sweets,  to 
turn  back  in  its  course,  and  creep  into  the  hard,  horny  case  which 
nurtured  and  protected  it  in  its  chrysalid  state,  or  for  an  eagle,  after 
soaring  into  the  empyrean  and  drinking  in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  to 
return  to  the  nest  which  cradled  his  infancy,  and  attempt  to  clothe 
himself  in  the  shell  from  which  he  was  hatched." 

"  That  when  a  man  passes  from  the  natural  into  the  spiritual 
world,  as  he  does  when  he  dies,  he  takes  with  him  all  things  belong 
ing  to  him  as  a  man  except  his  terrestrial  body,  has  been  proved  to 
me  by  manifold  experience.  For  when  he  enters  the  spiritual  world 
or  life  after  death,  he  is  in  a  body  as  he  was  in  the  world ;  to  all 
appearance  there  is  no  difference  whatever,  because  there  is  none 
that  he  can  discover  either  by  touch  or  sight.  But  his  body  is  now 
spiritual  in  its  nature  and  thus  separated  or  purified  from  the  terres 
trial  particles ;  and  when  what  is  spiritual  touches  and  sees  what  is 
spiritual,  the  effect  to  the  sense  is  exactly  the  same  as  when  what  is 
natural  touches  and  sees  what  is  natural.  The  man  whe»  a  spirit 
enjoys  every  sense,  both  internal  and  external,  that  he  possessed  in 
the  world.  He  sees  as  before,  he  hears  and  speaks  as  before,  ho 
smells  also  and  tastes,  and  feels  when  he  is  touched  as  before,  he 
longs  also,  he  desires,  he  wishes,  he  thinks,  he  reflects,  he  is  affected, 
he  loves,  he  wills  as  before,  and  a  person  who  takes  pleasure  in  study 
reads  ani  writes  as  before.  In  a  word,  a  man's  transit  from  one  life 


NOTES.  357 

into  the  other  or  from  one  world  into  the  other  is  like  a  journey  from 
one  place  into  another,  and  he  takes  with  him  all  things  that  ho  pos 
sesses  within  himself  as  a  man ;  so  that  it  can  not  be  said  that  a  man 
after  death,  his  death  being  only  that  of  his  terrestrial  body,  has  lost 
any  thing  that  belonged  to  himself.  He  also  carries  with  him  his  nat 
ural  memory,  for  every  thing  that  he  ever  heard,  saw,  read,  learned  or 
thought,  from  his  earliest  infancy  to  the  last  day  of  his  life  he  still  retains. 
The  natural  objects,  however,  which  are  contained  in  his  memory,  not 
being  capable  of  being  reproduced  in  the  spiritual  world,  remain  quies 
cent,  just  as  they  do  with  a  man  in  the  world  when  he  does  not 
think  of  them ;  but,  notwithstanding,  they  are  reproduced  when  the 
Lord  sees  good." — (Swedenborg's  Heaven  and  Hell,  461.) 

"  In  what  manner  resuscitation  is  effected,  has  not  only  been  re 
lated  to  me,  but  has  been  shown  to  me  by  actual  experience.  I  was 
myself  made  the  subject  of  that  experience,  in  order  that  I  might 
fully  know  how  the  great  change  is  accomplished. 

"  I  was  brought  into  a  state  of  insensibility  as  to  the  bodily  senses, 
and  thus  nearly  into  the  state  of  dying  persons,  the  interior  life  never 
theless  remaining  entire,  together  with  the  faculty  of  thought,  that 
I  might  observe  and  retain  in  my  memory  the  particulars  of  the  pro 
cess  I  was  about  to  undergo,  being  such  as  is  experienced  by  those 
who  are  being  resuscitated  from  the  dead.  I  perceived  that  the 
respiration  of  the  body  was  almost  taken  away,  the  interior  respira 
tion  which  is  that  of  the  spirit  remaining,  conjoined:  with  a  slight  and 
tacit  respiration  of  the  body. 

"  There  was  opened,  in  the  first  place,  a  communication  with  the 
Lord's  celestial  kingdom  as  to  the  pulsation  of  the  heart,  because 
that  kingdom  corresponds  to  the  heart  in  man.  Angels  belonging  to 
that  kingdom  were  also  seen,  some  at  a  distance  and  two  sitting  near 
my  head.  By  their  means  all  affection  proper  to  myself  was  taken 
away,  but  thought  and  perception  still  continued.  I  was  in  this 
state  for  some  hours.  The  spirits  who  were  around  me  then  with- 


358  NOTES. 

drew,  supposing  I  was  dead.  There  was  also  perceived  an  aromatic 
odor  like  that  of  an  embalmed  corpse ;  for  when  celestial  angels  are 
present,  the  effluvium  of  the  corpse  is  perceived  as  an  aromatic  per 
fume,  on  smelling  which,  spirits  are  unable  to  approach.  By  this 
means  also  evil  spirits  are  driven  away  from  the  spirit  of  a  man  when 
he  is  first  introduced  into  eternal  life.  The  angels  who  sat  at  my 
head  did  not  speak,  but  only  communicated  their  thoughts  with 
mine.  "When  their  thoughts  thus  communicated  are  received,  the 
angels  know  that  the  man's  spirit  is  in  such  a  state  as  to  be  capable 
of  being  drawn  out  of  the  body.  The  communication  of  their  thoughts 
was  effected  by  directing  the  aspect  of  their  countenances  on  mine; 
for  it  is  by  this  means  that  communications  of  thought  are  produced 
in  heaven. 

"  As  thought  and  perception  remained  with  me,  in  order  that  I 
might  know  and  remember  how  resuscitation  is  accomplished,  I  per 
ceived  that  those  angels  first  examined  what  my  thoughts  were,  to 
see  if  they  were  similar  to  those  of  dying  persons,  which  are  usually 
engaged  about  eternal  life,  and  that  they  wished  to  keep  my  mind 
occupied  with  such  thoughts.  It  was  told  me  afterwards  that  a 
man's  spirit  is  kept  in  the  last  thoughts  which  he  had  whilst  his  body 
was  expiring,  till  he  returns  to  the  thoughts  which  flow  from  the 
general  or  governing  affection  which  had  possessed  him  in  the  world. 
It  was  particularly  given  me  to  perceive  and  to  feel  also,  that  there 
was  a  drawing  and  as  it  were  a  pulling  out  of  the  interiors  belong 
ing  to  my  mind,  thus  of  my  spirit,  from  the  body ;  and  it  was  told 
mo  that  this  proceeded  from  the  Lord,  and  that  it  is  this  which  effects 
the  resurrection. 

"  The  celestial  angels  who  thus  minister  to  the  resuscitated  person 
do  not  leave  him,  because  they  love  every  one;  but  if  the  spirit  is 
such  in  quality  that  lie  can  not  longer  continue  in  company  with  celes 
tial  angels,  he  feels  a  desire  to  depart  from  them.  When  he  does  so, 
angels  of  the  Lord's  spiritual  kingdom  come  to  him,  by  whom  the  use 
of  light  is  given,  for  previously  he  saw  nothing  but  only  exercised  his 


NOTES.  359 

thoughts.  It  was  also  shown  me  how  this  is  done.  Those  angels  seem 
to  unroll  as  it  were  the  coat  of  the  left  eye  towards  the  nose,  that  the 
eye  might  be  opened,  and  the  faculty  of  sight  imparted.  It  appears 
to  the  spirits  as  if  such  an  operation  were  actually  performed ;  but  is 
only  an  appearance  (significative  of  some  spiritual  process).  After 
the  coat  of  the  eye  has  thus  seemed  to  be  drawn  off,  a  lucid  but 
indistinct  appearance  is  observed,  like  that  which  on  first  awaking 
from  sleep,  a  man  sees  through  his  eyelids  before  he  opens  them. 
This  indistinct  lucid  appearance  as  seen  by  me  was  of  a  sky-blue 
color,  but  I  was  afterwards  informed  that  there  are  varieties  in  the 
color  as  seen  by  different  persons.  After  this  there  is  a  sensation  as 
if  something  were  gently  drawn  off  the  face,  and  when  this  opera 
tion  is  completed,  the  resuscitated  person  is  introduced  into  a  state 
of  spiritual  thought.  That  drawing  off  of  something  from  the  face  is 
likewise,  however,  only  an  appearance,  and  by  it  is  represented  the 
passing  from  a  state  of  natural  thought  into  a  state  of  spiritual 
thought.  The  angels  use  the  utmost  caution  lest  any  idea  should 
proceed  from  the  resuscitated  person  but  such  as  partakes  of  love. 
All  this  being  done,  they  tell  him  that  now  he  is  a  spirit 

"After  the  spiritual  angels  have  imparted  to  the  new-born  spirit 
the  use  of  light,  they  render  him  all  the  kind  offices  which  in  that 
state  he  can  possibly  desire,  and  instruct  him  respecting  the  things 
which  exist  in  another  life,  so  far  as  he  is  capable  of  comprehending 
them.  But  if  the  resuscitated  person  is  of  such  character  as  not  to 
be  willing  to  receive  instruction,  he  desires  to  withdraw  from  the 
company  of  those  angels.  The  angels,  notwithstanding,  do  not  leave 
him,  but  he  separates  himself  from  their  society;  for  the  angels  love 
every  one,  and  desire  nothing  more  than  to  perform  kind  offices  to 
all,  to  give  them  instruction,  and  to  take  them  to  heaven,  in  which 
consists  their  supreme  delight.  When  the  spirit  has  thus  separated 
himself  from  the  society  of  the  angels,  he  is  taken  charge  of  by  good 
spirits,  who,  whilst  he  remains  in  their  company,  also  do  him  all 
sorts  of  kind  offices.  If,  however,  his  life  in  the  world  has  been  of 


360  NOTES. 

such  nature  that  he  can  not  abide  in  the  company  of  the  good,  lie 
also  desires  to  be  away  from  them.  This  conduct  he  repeats  during 
a  longer  or  shorter  period  of  time,  and  in  fewer  or  more  instances, 
till  he  becomes  associated  with  such  spirits  as  completely  agree  with 
his  life  in  the  world.  In  their  company  he  finds  his  own  life,  and 
what  is  wonderful,  he  then  pursues  a  similar  course  of  life  to  that  ho 
had  led  in  the  world. 

"  I  have  conversed  with  some  on  the  third  day  after  their  decease, 
when  the  process  had  been  completed  that  is  described  above.  Three 
of  these  had  been  known  to  be  in  the  world,  to  whom  I  related  that 
preparations  were  now  being  made  for  the  burial  of  their  body.  I 
happened  to  say  for  their  burial,  on  hearing  which  they  were  struck 
with  a  sort  of  stupor,  and  declared  that  they  were  alive,  but  that 
their  friends  might  commit  to  the  grave  what  had  served  them  for  a 
body  in  the  world.  They  afterwards  wondered  exceedingly  that  when 
they  lived  in  the  body  they  did  not  believe  there  was  such  a  life  after 
death,  and  they  were  especially  astonished  that  within  the  Church 
almost  all  are  possessed  by  a  similar  incredulity."  — (Heaven  and  Ildl, 
448-58.) 


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